Windows to the Soul
by LucieMarie
Summary: Alt yr7.Hermione is having horrible dreams. She never sees anything of her pursuer except for the murderous eyes. When she spots those eyes during her waking life, her world is turned upside down, and she discovers how extraordinary the dreams really are.
1. Prologue: The Killing Moon

**Summary:**

**Alternate 7th year at Hogwarts – compliant with books 1-6**  
><strong>Hermione Granger is having very disturbing dreams. She never sees anything of her pursuer except the murderous, bright eyes before she wakes up terrified beyond explanation. When she happens across the owner of the haunting eyes in Hogwarts, belonging to none other than Draco Malfoy, her year takes a turn for the worse. Draco shares the dream, and both are sure that something terrible will happen if the predator ever catches the prey.<strong>

**This story is rated M for strong language and violence.**

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><p><em>She ran into the forest, robes whipping around her ankles, snagging on the low brush and thorns, but she didn't stop. She couldn't. She tore deeper and deeper, chest heaving, throat burning, lungs laboring to breathe, but she didn't stop. Her legs ached burned and she panted in terrified, uneven bursts of breath, but she didn't stop. She couldn't. He was coming, and she had to get away if she wanted to live. She didn't understand how she knew this, but she knew that she must not be caught. Running as fast as she could, jumping over branches and bushes alike, and using her dirty sleeves to wipe the tears out of her eyes so she could see where she was going. She could hear footsteps running lightly behind her. They had a confidence with the forest that she did not, and she knew He would catch her soon. Blubbering, her heart pounding hard and fast, she ran until the moonlight was filtered out completely by the trees of the Dark Forest, and all was pitch black. <em>

_She knew He could have caught her ages ago. She knew that He was just toying with her, as a cat might play with a mouse before delivering the final blow. The sounds of His footsteps teased her, dancing on one side, then prancing on the other. Still she ran, stumbling now, unable to see much of anything in front of her, until a branch managed to wrap itself around her foot, and she tumbled down among the thorns and the dirt and the moldy leaves, gasping as she went. This was it. This was the end. The footsteps that continued after hers slowed until her pursuer was at a calm walk, coming closer to her. A slow, steady walk, that she knew was meant to intimidate her. Crying, she tried to suck in a deep breath to prepare her for what would surely be her demise. Still her lungs and her heart labored, and she made a decision to turn and face the man that was going to kill her. She would not die lying tangled on the forest floor, crying all over her long sleeves. Shaking from head to foot, she wiped her eyes once more before she stood and turned defenseless to face Him, but He was closer than she thought, and all she was met with was a pair of great, big eyes. Hauntingly beautiful, silver and grey orbs as bright as if the moon was shining directly onto them, but angrier than any eyes she had ever seen in her life, and unmistakably murderous. _

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><p>Hermione Granger woke up screaming a high, blood-curdling scream, sweaty and tangled in her sheets, her pillows soaked with desperate and terrified tears. She thrashed about, tearing the sheets from her body to free herself. She would do anything to rid herself of the hopeless and trapped feeling that was gripping at her pounding heart. Her breath came uneven and rough, as if she really had been running for her life only seconds ago. She reached frantically for her wand just as she managed to disentangle herself. "L-l-lumos!" she stuttered, as she pushed her sweat-soaked, wiry hair out of her face with shaking hands so she could see around her. The dormitory was empty, and for that she was thankful. Staying for Christmas break with the boys had its advantages privacy-wise.<p>

Tears continued to drip down Hermione's chin, and her bottom lip trembled. Sniffling, she lit the candles in the room so she could more easily examine it. Everything looked normal. From the neatly-made and vacant beds of her classmates, to the Gryffindor scarves and posters adorning the walls, to the clear winter night outside the tower window. Everything was as still and calm as one would expect it to be during the early hours Christmas Eve. Still, her hands shook violently, and she put her wand back on her bedside table until she could steady herself for fear of injuring herself with it. She sat on the edge of her bed and put her face in her hands, trying to concentrate on breathing to calm herself. _It was that stupid dream again!_

Since the beginning of Winter Break, Hermione had not gone more than a couple nights without having to relive that terrible _nightmare. _The first time it happened, only a day after the other girls had left for break, she had sat up shaking all night, all of her lights on, breathing hard, head pounding, and begging the sun to rise. The next day her hair hung limp, her skin looked pale and waxy, and the shadows under her eyes immediately told Harry and Ron that she hadn't slept. Though they were initially worried, they seemed to accept her initial excuse of having been up late studying (_"It's Christmas, Hermione! Take a break!"_). She supposed she was lucky, at least, that the dream hadn't started until break had, because it would be terribly embarrassing to have to wake up her roommates and cause more worry. Hermione was not stupid. She _knew _it was just a dream. She just needed to figure out how to make it stop. Still her heart raced, but her breathing had evened out somewhat, and she slowly lowered her hands from her face to sit back on her bed and try to relax.

If Lavender and Parvati had been here, Harry and Ron would surely know about her nightmares by now, and it would only worry them more. They were only dreams, but Harry had had far too many experiences with prophetic dreams to be calmed by that argument. Yes, it was best to keep them to herself for now. Her heart slowed its frantic beating with this decision, and she relaxed into her bed a bit more. As if she needed these sorts of distractions during her NEWT year. She scooted herself back under her covers and reached for her wand to wordlessly turn the lights back off in the dorm. As Head Girl, she would have to set a better example than one of being frightened by some little nightmares. What would the younger students think of her? Her eyes drooping, she suddenly remembered the vivid, terrifying eyes looking directly into her own brown ones, and her heart started pounding a little faster. _Stop it! _she chided herself, and she pushed the eyes from her mind. If the dreams continued past the end of the break, she would ask Madame Pomfrey for a Dreamless Sleep Draught. She would need to rest to study, after all, and she wouldn't want to disturb her roommates. With that comforting thought, Hermione managed to drift back to sleep merely an hour after waking, this time happily dreaming of a dreamless dream.

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><p>As usual, despite having had a bit of a rough night, Draco Malfoy woke bright and early. He stood and stretched, closing his eyes, cracking his back, and groaning with the effort, before observing the colossal pile of presents, all with shining green and silver wrappings and bows, piled neatly at the foot of his bed in his dormitory. Though his mother was spending the holiday in Italy (and his father still in Azkaban), he was clearly not forgotten on Christmas, and he smiled to himself as and sifted through all his gifts, generally pleased with the contents. Head Boy Blaise Zabini, the only other boy in the dormitory, slept on. Draco ignored him. He probably wouldn't wake until early afternoon, as he usually spent half the night awake doing God-knows-what. Blaise was a bit of a mystery to Draco, and Draco to him. They were cordial with one another, but both preferred their privacy.<p>

Dressed in a brand new, perfectly tailored set of black robes, Draco made his way to the common room couch to flip though a few new books and admire his other gifts. He was confident he would be alone with his thoughts. Not many Slytherins had stayed over break, and the few that had would not wake early. He eagerly opened his first book, a thick leather-bound that detailed all of the Malfoy history and genealogy.  
><em>Demetrius Malfoy (1273-1380) managed to gain the majority of his power by murdering…<br>_His eyes got stuck on a single word…. _murdering… _and his mind began to wander.

He almost murdered someone in his dream last night. Draco shuddered. This dream had been plaguing him since the beginning of break, and he was getting very tired of it. He thought he had moved past the murdering stage of his life when he refused to kill Dumbledore… hadn't he worked hard to prove himself a changed man? Hadn't he at least begun to show people that he was NOT a murderer? He was obviously NOT a murderer, or they wouldn't have agreed to let him come back to Hogwarts (albeit on a probationary level). If he was not a murderer, then why were these dreams so pleasurable to him? To be fair, he hadn't murdered the person in his dream… yet… though he had little doubt that he would if the dreams continued. The most disturbing part, though, was the absolute _thrill _that Dream-Draco felt as he chased this nameless, faceless, person through the forest. Well, 'faceless' wasn't completely true. He had seen her eyes. Her eyes were always large, wide, and brown. The forest was dark, but he knew the exact shade of that brown. He knew the starburst pattern of the irises perfectly, and he knew the horrified, shaking, _I'm-about-to-die _look that ran so deep into this person's soul, right down to her feet. And he knew that Dream-Draco _loved _to see this fear in the nameless girl.

Dream-Draco disturbed Real-Draco to no end. He woke up frequently, every few nights, every time he had this dream, alarmed at what he had seen. At what he had been doing. At how he and _relished _in the chase. It disturbed him so much, that he decided he wouldn't be able to get any reading done, as much as he would have liked to, and he sighed in frustration before he returned his things to his room. It was time for breakfast.


	2. Chapter 1:  Sunrise, Sunset

Christmas morning was, as usual, punctuated by happy shouts from Harry and Ron as they tore their way through their piles of gifts, comparing their hauls. Though Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were visiting Charlie in Romania, Mrs. Weasley had still managed to send them all a Weasley Sweater and some very nice mince pies. Harry pulled on his new green sweater and somehow managed to convince Rom to pull on his maroon one before they continued shredding through paper. Hermione, wearing her own blue Weasley Sweater, smiled at their antics as she sat on the end of Ron's bed and watched, Crookshanks purring in her lap. Though it was Christmas, her eyes drooped slightly and her smile was a little vacant. It was hard, after all, to completely function on less sleep than she was used to, but she was doing her best, and so far neither Harry nor Ron had seemed to notice. She had only been up during the night for about an hour, after all. Perhaps she was so tense and frightened during the actual dream that she wasn't getting her rest then either…

Hermione nodded off, just for a second, but long enough for her head to droop, then snap back up after a flash of silvery eyes invaded her mind. Long enough for Ron to take notice.

"You alright, 'Mione?" he asked.

"Yeah, you look dead tired," said Harry, taking the time to have a better look at the way her eyes just didn't seem to want to focus and the way her hair hung dull and limp and the way her smile seemed a little strained, not quite meeting her eyes.

"Don't be silly. It's nothing I can't handle. Now get dressed so we can go have some breakfast!" she answered briskly before gently setting Crookshanks down and bustling from the room.

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><p>Draco had been enjoying the mostly empty Great Hall. Though a couple young Slytherins had showed up about halfway through his meal, they had simply cast him a nervous look before settling down at the far end of the table, chatting quietly. A handful of Hufflepuffs sat there, a few Ravenclaws were scattered here, and the Gryffindor table had one lone third year sitting at one end. It was still early morning, after all. This was the way Draco preferred it. He was comfortable in his seat, sipping a coffee and lazily watching the other students. Most of them ignored him, though sometimes a student would try to sneak an uneasy look over their shoulders. Though he was used to these reactions, it annoyed him to no end. Did they expect him to Avada Kedavra someone out of boredom right there in the Great Hall? Idiots. Admitably, Draco still had no desire to make nice with Harry Potter, but the public tauntings had mostly ceased. That wasn't to say that he never poked fun at the Scarhead, or that he didn't revel in every moment that Harry was miserable. The diminished jabs were partly to do with the revelation that Draco was not a murderer, no matter how much he originally thought he was, but mostly to do with his Probation, which would have him thrown out of Hogwarts the second he so much as looked at his own wand around Potter.<p>

_Speak of the devil…_ He thought glumly, as Scarhead, Weasel, and Granger walked into the Hall for their own breakfast. Everyone that noticed them smiled up at Potter in friendly greeting. It just made Draco sick to watch. Boy Wonder. The Chosen One. The Boy Who Lived. Disgusting. Draco refilled his coffee as he noticed they were all wearing some nauseating sweater that seemed to be made out of different colored rat hair. His own new expensive black robes looked extremely superior in comparison.

The Three In The Ugly Sweaters (a title greatly improved from 'The Golden Trio') ate their food and chatted as Draco continued to survey the students scattered through the Great Hall. He glanced back at them occasionally, glaring, until he just happened to catch Grangers eye. It seemed to take her a second to gather her thoughts, which was a bit of an anomaly, before her eyes narrowed and she sent him an icy glare. He stared stonily back at her bushy hair and ugly sweater and waxy skin until she turned back to her friends to ignore him. Disgusting. Potter had undoubtedly told his friends what had happened on the top of the tower, that Draco was not a murderer. This would almost sound as noble as everyone thought the Scarhead to be, except that he had also, undoubtedly, made sure that no one forgot all the poor and selfish decisions that Draco had made leading up to that point. Did Potter bother to mention how the Dark Lord was blackmailing him? How Draco had feared for his mother and father's life as well as his own? Probably not. Well, Draco wasn't about to mention it to anyone. It was none of their business. The Ministry and Headmistress McGonagall knew everything, and that was all that mattered.

Abruptly, Draco downed the last of his sixth cup of coffee, a much needed boost after a night of tossing and turning, before smoothly exiting the Great Hall, new robes billowing behind him. Perhaps he would be able to focus on his new books now.

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><p><em>Dark hair and black robes whipped in between the trees ahead of him, and he smiled gleefully. Should he let her have a head start? It really didn't matter. He would catch her anyway…. But a head start would surely give her the false hope he so loved to see in his victims before… <em>

_Easily, he bounded after her, pacing himself so she could only just hear his footsteps behind her. Her terrified sobs ripped through the forest. The sound of them was so desperate and pathetic and truly frightening that he knew any animals that were around would flee. Thin beams from the moon filtered through the trees, illuminating very little of the path in front of him, but his feet were sure on the soft ground and over the fallen branches and brambles. He padded along, purposefully allowing his footsteps to be heard. The trees had completely filtered out the moon before he heard her fall with a small yelp a little ahead of him, just like he knew she would, and he slowed his pace in order to approach her slowly. That way he could drink in everything she did in her last seconds. He wanted to see her animalistic attempts to save her own life. He wanted to hear her heaving gasps for air as she struggled to breath. He wanted her to beg for mercy._

_As he approached, she sobbed on the ground and wiped her eyes with the filthy sleeves of her robe. He would make her face him before the end. He wanted to see her desperation. When he was close enough to grab her and force her to stand and look at him, she pulled herself to her full height on her own accord. It was too perfect. She was going to face her own mortality without his goading. And then she turned. Could she make this any easier for him?_

_As she had turned to face him, he took a step forward, excited and restless, wanting to watch. And their faces were only inches from one another. He stared hungrily into her dark brown eyes, which were still bright in the dark forest. They were the most emotional and telling part of a person. They were illuminated by the tears that continued to pour and by the terror that was causing her heart to beat so loud. They were wide and gleaming deeply from within, as eyes only can when they are facing their own mortality and seconds from experiencing it. They were his favorite part. These eyes held the knowledge that this was the end, and there was nothing she could do about it. It was the purest form of hopelessness that existed, and he loved it._

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><p>Draco Malfoy awoke with a start. He had been laying on top of his blankets since a roaring fire had made it almost uncomfortably warm in the Slytherin house, but now he was cold to the point of trembling. He managed to scoot under his blankets, glancing to make sure that Blaise was still asleep as he did so. Christmas had come and gone, and Theo would be returning from his Aunt's in a couple days. And still the dreams hadn't stopped. His pale skin glistened with a fine sheet of sweat despite the cold that was biting at his bones. The longer he lay under his thick blankets, the longer the cold refused to leave, and he began to think that maybe the cold had less to do with the room and more to do with the sickening feeling of dread that had settled in his stomach. Why was he having a recurring nightmare like some embarrassing first year? He trembled slightly, and again glanced at Blaise's bed to ensure he really was asleep. The dreams were more vivid than any he had ever had, though to be honest, he rarely dreamed before this whole ordeal. He hated that he was lying awake and shaking. He hated that the stupid dream wasn't even very frightening, yet he still awoke every time visibly upset. He hated the way that Dream-Draco felt as he closed in on his prey… Real-Draco was <em>not a murderer. <em>Why did Dream-Draco seem to enjoy it so much? Why did Dream-Draco revel in those big brown eyes? Those same eyes kept the real Draco awake for hours at a time as he remembered the haunting, pleading look that shone through the tears at him. He hoped he never saw anyone ever look at him like that in his life. Well, he wouldn't, right? Because he had already proven to himself and others that he was not a murderer.

He had been lying there, gradually warming, for almost two hours. This was ridiculous. There was no way he would be able to finish his final year if he couldn't sleep. Draco was tired. His brain felt deflated, his limbs ached as he tried to relax them into his bed, and his eyes were dry and burned against the air. The feeling of dread had gradually unclenched in his stomach, but it had been replaced by a burning anger. He was angry at Dream-Draco, angry at the girl that ran from him, and angry with himself for allowing the dreams to continue. He was going to go to Madame Pomfrey and ask for a Dreamless Sleep Draught. He would put a stop to this _tomorrow. _

Convinced that tonight would be the last terrible night he had, Draco finally drifted into a restless sleep but dreamless sleep.

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><p>Hermione had a terrible night. It was one of her worst. Though she hadn't woken up screaming this time, she was still severely shaken, traumatized even, and turned on all the lights so she could curl up on her bed without <em>those eyes<em> shining at her through the dark… Like they had in the Dark Forest… night after night... more frequently and vividly than ever before…

She struggled to catch her breath. She was straining to breathe in. She couldn't seem to grab at the air she needed, no matter how fast her lungs were working. Her heart thudded painfully inside her, hard enough that she could see it against her chest, and she could feel the blood coursing hot through her veins. Hermione's head began to swim. Unwanted tears pricked at her eyes and she wondered if she was having a panic attack. She had never had one before, and through the gasping breaths, desperate to draw air, she couldn't help but marvel at how uncomfortable it was. _Calm down, calm down!_ she told herself firmly. _It was just a stupid dream. It will eventually stop. You're okay…_ It took a few minutes that dragged on and on, but gradually she was able to draw deeper breaths until her lungs swirled with the fresh oxygen they had craved.

Frightened and intrigued, Hermione listened to her heartbeat slowing. She was still shaky, but was relieved the panic feeling had left her. _Really, there is no reason to panic_, she told herself. _It wouldn't solve anything_. The only thing to worry about was that her roommates would return in a couple days, and classes would resume in just a couple days after that. She couldn't keep them awake at all hours by turning on the lights and having panic attacks left and right. Aside from that, the work load she was experiencing was unlike anything they'd had before, as their NEWTS were coming up in just a few months! There was no putting it off any longer. She would have to go to Madame Pomfrey today.

She uncurled herself to lay flat on her back, but she didn't get up. She didn't turn off the lights. What time was it? It was still very dark outside. There was no hint of the sun wanting to peek over the horizon, so she left the lights on. Her eyes stared unseeing at the ceiling. They ached and itched and she wanted to close them, but she wouldn't let herself. She didn't want to see those silver eyes ever again. She stared unblinkingly up at the ceiling for hours.

Though she made sure to keep her mind mostly blank, Hermione mused that she seemed to be in some sort of catatonic state. She supposed she could make use of her lack of sleep and open some books to prepare for her lessons, but she was _so tired. _She couldn't bring herself to get out of bed.

More hours passed. They may have passed slowly and unwillingly, but they did pass. Hermione stared at the ceiling, willing herself to forget _those eyes _that were beginning to haunt her even during her waking hours. And eventually the sun crept into the sky, illuminating the grounds outside the tower window. It all looked so peaceful, but Hermione knew otherwise. She dreamt of a horrifying chase on those grounds almost every night now, with no rest from it. Those grounds weren't peaceful.

The sun was higher in the sky now, and she thought that Madame Pomfrey must be awake. Every muscle in her body ached, her head was heavy, her eyes were dry, but Hermione slowly peeled herself from her bed, feeling as though there was no way she could drag herself to the hospital wing. But she forced herself to go through the motions of getting ready, never really seeing what she was doing, and slumped downstairs, planning to pick up a coffee from the Dining Hall before making her way to the hospital wing.

To her immense relief, there were only two other people in the Dining Hall, at the Ravenclaw table, and they completely ignored Hermione as she miserably drank a coffee and leaned on the table. Exhaustion was gripping her every fiber, pulling her hair lank, dulling her skin, and pounding in her head. It took three more cups before she felt she could hold a conversation with the nurse.

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><p>Draco had dark circles stretched on his pale skin, hanging under his eyes. Though he still managed to sleep for a half hour here and there, it felt as though he hadn't at all. He hardly got the words "Dreamless Sleep…" out of his mouth before Madame Pomfrey was thrusting a jug of the draught into his hands.<p>

"Oh, you look terrible, dear!" she doted when she saw his bloodshot eyes. "Having some trouble sleeping? Yes, it is quite common during the NEWT year. Classes are starting soon, you know, and it would be best to get some rest before then so you don't fall behind. This draught should last you a couple months if you only take it a few times a week. Just a gulp at bedtime will do it, dear." She prattled on in a motherly way.

Draco didn't have time for this. Though he was extremely grateful for the quantity she had given him, probably hoping he might share with his roommates to keep them from bothering her, he simply didn't have the patience to deal with her nonsense. He gave her a hard look to let her know this, interrupted her with a curt, "Thank you," and turned on heel, black robes not billowing with as much energy as they had in the past.

He stalked out the door and around a corner, planning on an immediate gallon or two of coffee, and nearly flattened Granger. "Watch where you're going!" he snarled, but then he couldn't help but smirk. The muggle-born looked like she just crawled out of a pit of hell. She never really looked up at him, and her expression was vacant. Not at all like Granger.

"Go to Hell, Malfoy." He could tell she tried to put some of her regular fire behind the phrase, but it came out disjointed and hollow. Merlin, she looked like Hell. Her hair had lost its normal frizz and simply hung limply over her face. She looked as though she had lost some weight, and her skin stretched unhealthy and sallow over her bones. She had probably been staying up all night to study. Or else she was having nightmares about failing. Typical Granger. Draco snorted. He noticed that she had buttoned her shirt incorrectly, the holes and buttons not quite lining up right, so one side of her shirt was longer than the other.

"You look filthier than normal, Granger." He tried to provoke her, to see the anger flash behind her lively eyes. Perhaps a small squabble would bring a little color back into his own cheeks and perk him up for the rest of the day, but she seemed to ignore him, or she didn't hear him, and she sidestepped him to continue on her route. Draco was livid as he watched her drag herself into the hospital wing. She would probably allow Madame Pomfrey to fuss all over her, the dirty Gryffindor. She would probably eat up all the attention she was given. Maybe she would even suggest she stayed for a day or two, to rest up properly of course, and Madame Pomfrey would of course agree and dote on her and pretend to be her mother and everything else that Pomfrey did. Granger would love that. Potty and Weasel would undoubtedly visit to worry properly about their poor sick friend. The Gryffindors ate this shit up. It was disgusting. They couldn't take care of themselves, the filthy creatures. They constantly needed the reassurance of everyone kissing their ass to make sure they know they are loved. With a very nasty look on his face, Draco turned back to continue on his way to the Great Hall.

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><p>Hermione would have told Harry and Ron, but really, at this point, there was no reason to worry them as she had a huge bottle full of the solution to her problems on her bedside table now. Madame Pomfrey had gone on and on about under-eating and sleeplessness and stress and exams, and she mentioned that she had given a bottle to another student only moments before Hermione had showed up. That was odd. It must have been Malfoy, as the rest of the corridor was quiet and deserted. She wondered if the NEWTS were getting to him already, though she didn't remember him every being very studious. He was a good student, but preferred to coast through rather than put the work in. She couldn't remember ever actually looking at him, though, and the encounter was very vague in her mind, so she couldn't properly assess his situation.<p>

Really, she would have told the boys about the trouble she was having, but Madame Pomfrey, the kind lady she is, offered Hermione a Pepper-Up Potion. She steamed from the ears for ten minutes, but now she was awake and chipper and ready to make it through the day, and she was absolutely excited about bedtime so she could take just one gulp of that draught and have the most restful night she's had in weeks. The Pepper-Up potion had done its job, and Hermione would be perfectly rested after her dreamless sleep tonight, so there would be no reason to tell the boys. _It's already over, _she reasoned with herself. _There's no reason to bring it up._

The potion had woken Hermione's mind, but her body still ached, and she knew she still looked dreadful, so she had a nice bath to relax her grinding muscles and wash her limp hair. Examining herself in the mirror, she was amazed how much more lively she looked, and she knew it had as much to do with the anticipation of a good nights sleep just as much as it had to do with the potion. The dark circles were still under her eyes, and the mild body aches were still there, but really, she felt better than she had in weeks.

Harry and Ron had been worried. They had made no secret of it. They knew she was tired, and they knew she wasn't eating right, and they had been trying to get her to let them know why, but today was beginning of a new era, and she bounded into their room. Not with as much gusto as she would have a couple months ago, but her friends were delighted to see her so lively, and they celebrated by enjoying a long and filling breakfast. Yes, things were looking better. Hermione couldn't wait to go to sleep.

The day passed slowly, starting with a walk around the lake in the snow and chilly air. Hermione read some books that she just hadn't been able to focus on, and she watched Harry and Ron play some Wizard's Chess, and they laughed and enjoyed one of the last days of their break. They were just enjoying a heavy and delicious lunch, and gradually the Pepper-Up potion was wearing off, but Hermione was still livelier that she had been in days. Nothing was going to ruin her mood today. She laughed at the table with Ron and Harry, and watched the students chattering around her, and realized how ready she was for everyone else to return to fill the gaping holes in the house tables. As she gazed around contently, she noticed Malfoy sitting alone at the Slytherin table, brooding over a meal. This wasn't anything out of the ordinary. Though Malfoy was still often seen with his old friends, their attitudes had all seemed to have changed a little in the past year, and it was much more likely that Malfoy would be seen sitting alone. Today, however, looked different. His blond hair fell in a way that looked as though he had just forgotten about it, and the bruise-like shadows under his eyes stood out easily his pale skin, making him look almost vampirish. He looked dead on his feet. It was definitely him that had been to Madame Pomfrey earlier.

Satisfied that she had solved the mystery, Hermione still didn't fool herself into thinking that either Harry or Ron would find this interesting. They still took jabs at Malfoy discreetly in the halls, but Harry had, for the most part, stopped looking for reasons to hate Malfoy. Didn't he already have enough, anyway?

She glanced up again at Malfoy just as he looked up at her. They were too far from eachother to look closely, but in the second that their eyes looked, a small electric current seemed to run through Hermione's body. She gasped and dropped her fork, looking at her hand with her mouth slightly open.

"What's wrong?" asked Harry sharply. He had been watching her.

"Nothing… nothing…" muttered Hermione. Harry looked at her suspiciously.

"Hermione, you dropped your fork as if it electrocuted you," he persisted in a voice that clearly said he didn't believe her. Ron looked curiously at them, having missed short exchange.

"Really, Harry, it's nothing. I just had a chill was all," she said, trying to wave him away as if that really was all she felt. "It surprised me."

Harry's suspicious look diminished slightly, but not completely. When he took his next bite, Hermione snuck a look back at the Slytherin table. Malfoy was gone.


	3. Chapter 2: Say It Ain't So

It had been the single longest day of Draco's life. That was undeniable. He dragged his feet into the common room, stumbling every now and then. It had been grating experience trying to stay awake until an acceptable hour so he didn't ruin his sleep schedule. Now it was only 7:30 in the evening. He had just finished a late dinner, having been delayed by an unexpected owl. Mother was sick, and he was worried. Malfoy Manor was empty save for a few house elves, and he thought that perhaps loneliness was the root of her problems. Since the incarceration of his father, Mother hadn't had many friends. The occasion dinner date wasn't much to keep the poor woman occupied, and she spent all of her time writing letters to Father and Draco. Though her letter had assured Draco that she was fine, and she was simply keeping him up-to-date with her own life, Draco knew that this was a not-so-subtle hint that she missed him. Well, if she hadn't insisted on a solo holiday in Italy, then he would have been home for Christmas. The stupid woman. He had responded immediately to her letter, promising to visit the next chance he got, and suggested that she should get out of the house more. Poor Mother. House elves didn't offer much stimulating conversation.

Dear Mother wasn't the only problem. At this point, Draco was seriously concerned about his health. There had been some sort of incident at lunch when, while trying to enjoy a typical stare-down with one of The Stupid Trio, a strange buzzing sensation had jarred his brain and travelled to the tips of his fingers. It didn't hurt, but it had certainly been surprising and unpleasant. It had not lasted a second, but it unnerved him. He was drinking too much coffee. Though over the years he had found that he enjoyed the taste, the stuff really wasn't good for you. Immediately after the buzzing, he had hurried to the restroom, splashed some cold water on his face, and took a second to himself. He should never have relied on coffee. The rest of the day, he only drank water. The lack of caffeine was going to do him in if the lack of sleep didn't.

Each stair that Draco climbed towards his room seemed to wear on his knees, and he was heavily anticipating his warm bed and a long sleep supplemented by his Dreamless Draught. He opened the door, reveling in the idea of his sweatpants and tshirt, and was extremely disappointed to see Blaise sitting up, drawing up a large and complicated looking schedule. Busy Blaise looked up when he entered, and Draco glared at him. Why couldn't Blaise be busy somewhere else?

"What's your problem?" his dark skinned roommate asked, a disinterested drawl in his voice. He turned back to the schedule, which Draco could now see got busier and busier towards the end of the year. A study schedule already? Blaise the over-achiever.

"Sleep," Draco replied simply, his teeth grinding with irritation. He didn't want to deal with stupid Blaise being all studious when he finally had a chance to sleep, but it would be easier to just pull the sheer silver and green hangings around his bed and charm the area to darkness. Blaise wouldn't leave the room without a fight, and the sooner Draco got into bed, the better. He changed in a daze, as quickly as his aching muscles would allow him, and eagerly lay down, allowing his body to sink into the white, soft, perfect bedding, relaxing slowly, eyes scratching dryly against his eye lids. This was going to feel so good. He grabbed the draught from his bedside table and took two gulps, just for good measure, before he pulled his hangings closed and charmed the dark in. He lay back, head sinking back into its spot deep in his pillow, neck relaxing, listening to the scratching of Blaise's quill and the shuffling of papers. It was extremely comfortable. There was no need for a silencing charm, he was happy to realize.

Within seconds, he felt the familiar sensation of the potion beginning to work. The dull, foggy feeling seemed to creep up though his throat and around to the back of his head, tightening slightly. His eyes drooped blissfully, and he knew no more.

* * *

><p>The rest of the students had returned to the school, and Hermione was alive again. Not only had she been sleeping deeply and dreamlessly, but Ginny had returned from her Christmas visit with Fred and George, and as much as she loved Harry and Ron, it was nice to have another girl to talk to.<p>

Hermione walked with a bounce in her step. It was time for breakfast, and then she would finally be attending her lessons again. The night before she had made a very neat and detailed schedule, outlining every minute she was going to study. It began simply enough, but as the weeks led up to their NEWTS, the schedule barely had enough time left for her to sleep… but this was something she made sure she allowed enough time for, as she now had a firsthand account of what it was like to be sleep deprived.

Enjoying some buttered toast, Hermione alternated between flipping through a course book for her first class and looking around at the other students in the Hall. Harry and Ron were chatting a little disheartedly with Seamus and Neville, as they weren't ready for lessons to resume. Everyone had been back for a couple days, but there was still an excited buzz as people continued to exchange stories from their break and compare the presents they received.

Hermione took all this in. She was very happy that the other students were back, as it could get quite dull just sitting and watching countless games of wizard chess. She knew that Ron and Harry had also been spending quite a bit of time reading. That was an understatement, actually. They had spent _countless hours_ reading for the entire past semester. They read every Defense Against The Dark Arts and Hogwarts History book they could get their hands on. Harry's bright green eyes would hungrily drink in every word, occasionally he would jot down a note here and a note there in a disorganized stack of parchment he kept, and he read with a fervor that was usually only seen around exam time. Ron, though very helpful, approached the text with a different attitude, and felt that skimming books until he found something that sounded like it was worth focusing on was a more than adequate approach. A strong sense of guilt clenched in Hermione's stomach as she thought about her friends' different research methods. All year she had helped them with just as much enthusiasm, if not more, than Harry showed. She had her own neat stack of parchment she had been keeping notes on, and she had lists of books that she had yet to read, and she had been very diligent until _that dream _had started up…

She had been sleeping the past few nights. Wonderful, blissful, rejuvenating, sleep, and it was time to start with research again. Harry and Ron had been very patient with her, not nagging her once, and it was about time she got back in gear. Voldemort wasn't going to kill himself, after all…

Luckily, after the attack on Hogwarts and murder of Dumbledore, the Death Eaters and Voldemort seemed to be lying a bit low, perhaps planning their next big attack. What was it going to be this time? Heavy dread settled in Hermione's stomach, replacing the guilt.

This was no way to start the first day back. Hermione shook herself of these feelings and attempted to regain control of her thoughts, but her eyes wandered over to the Slytherin table. Even these particular students, typically looking a bit more glum than the others, were more animated than usual as they compared stories and expensive gifts. Malfoy, Dumbledore's would-be killer, looked just as glum as he normally did, though notably perkier than he had the past month or so. He was smirking at something the cow Pansy Parkinson was telling a small group, including Blaise Zabini and a boy named Theodore Nott. Apparently it was an amusing story, as Theodore Nott kept sniggering.

Irritated, sure it was a terrible story, she looked away. Neville was entertaining the others with a story about his Gran harassing the Healers in St. Mungos. Hermione had missed the first half of the story, and found her mind wandering again, back to the electrical zap she had felt a few days ago. It wasn't a painful zap, but it was very uncomfortable and unexpected. She hadn't every felt anything like it before, and she hadn't felt it since. Undoubtedly it was brought on by lack of sleep.

_Of course it was brought on by lack of sleep. You can stop thinking about it, now… _Hermione told herself. All this thinking was very well and good, but it was _boring_ her to death. As if on cue from her thoughts, students were beginning to stand and mill around, checking their bags and wandering off with a friend or two towards their lessons. Well it was about time!

"Are you guys ready?" she eagerly asked Harry and Ron.

Ron groaned. "Hermione, we still have five minutes until we need to leave!"

"But it will be good to get there early," she pressured. "Slughorn is sure to jump into something important today, and it might take some time to set up."

Harry sighed at her enthusiasm, but stood nonetheless. Even without the help of the Half-Blood Prince, Harry still seemed to enjoy Potions much more with Slughorn teaching it. "She's right. Let's get going, Ron." Scowling, looking sadly at his unfinished eggs (his sixth helping, if Hermione hadn't missed counting one), Ron gathered his bag and followed them down to the dungeons.

* * *

><p>It was almost time for Potions. Draco had been amused by a story Pansy had been telling about how her mother had been passing through St. Mungo's while the embarrassing Longbottom's Gran was there. Apparently the crazy old bat was accosting a couple of the healers in a very public and upsetting way. Did people not understand how to be discreet anymore? Draco shook his head at the thought. Tactless. Even more embarrassing was that Longbottom, the bumbling oaf that he is, was also red in the face and shouting, and had to put an arm around his Gran to hold her back from the healers. He didn't remember the reason for the display, something about a mix up of medication or something, probably for his brain-addled parents. It wasn't important. The Longbottoms had absolutely no shame, the fools.<p>

The story was entertaining, no doubt, but now Draco was bored, bored, bored. Classes were boring. Pansy was usually boring. Blaise was especially boring. He trudged down deeper and deeper into the dungeons, dreading watching Slughorn fawn over everything Scarhead managed to slap together with the grace of a two-year-old. Day after day Slughorn hovered over him, approving of everything he did, regardless of whether or not it was correct. Draco still excelled at Potions, but for the amount of praise his projects had gotten, no one would ever believe it. It all went back to that stupid Scarhead monopolizing everyone's attention even though these days he was very _boring _and spent almost as much time with his nose in a book as that frizzy muggleborn did.

There were only a handful of students in Slughorn's NEWT class. Draco sat in his usual spot in the back corner, next to Blaise, and sulked. Blaise was leaning back in his chair, lounging lazily, watching the stragglers filter in.

"Settle down, now, settle down!" Slughorn bounced jubilantly. Granger immediately sat up with rapt attention, her back rigid and her chin high. Front and center, just like always. Draco scoffed. The idiot. So desperate to please.

"Welcome back! I hope you all had an excellent holiday, but now it is time to focus on your new task, and it will require all the attention to detail you can muster. Today we will begin brewing a rare poison and its antidote. Of course, a bezoar will not save anyone from this potion you will be working on…" Slughorn chuckled and winked at Harry. Draco pretended to vomit under his desk, and Blaise smirked.

"This Potion is very dangerous, as both the poison and the antidote each take a little longer than three months to brew, but we will be working in partners in order to prepare both of them at once. The fumes can be dangerous at times, so you will have to take extra care! Not to worry, though, as I have brewed ample amounts of the antidote in preparation for this project." And Slughorn held up a small vial. It was filled with substance that seemed to be the same gas-water consistency that made up the contents of a pensieve, except that it was a deep translucent forest green in color.

"Now, the potion is on page 664, but before you get started, I must split you into teams myself, and the reason for which will become more apparent as we go on…" Slughorn was suddenly interrupted by a very audible gasp. It looks as though Granger already had turned to the page in question. Could she be any more obnoxious?

"Ah, Miss Granger, are you familiar with the potions you will be brewing?"

"Yes! But – but Professor, the making of –"

"—Now, now, Miss Granger! Don't ruin the surprise for everyone! As I'm sure you well know, the information regarding this particular potion is very specific, and nothing specific about its identify may be spoken aloud, lest the speaker face dire consequences."Slughorn looked absolutely thrilled with himself. "This will really set apart the real potion makers from those who – well – aren't as great."

Draco frowned. What the hell was he going on about? Extremely curious, he shuffled through his book until he came to the potions they would be making.

_The Unspeakable Draught of Death  
>(Banned without both license and approval from Ministry)<em>

Slughorn prattled on, "…and nothing specific about the potion may be spoken aloud, because the discovery of the component must be done by the potion brewer only. Unfortunately I can't tell you much more! You'll have to do the research on your own, I'm afraid!"

Draco frowned. This potion sounded like a lot of work. He looked at Blaise who had deep creases in his forehead and was skimming the directions intently. To Draco's immense relief, he looked just as confused as he was. At least the classroom would probably be quieter from now on.

* * *

><p>Hermione sat stunned, seemingly unable to move, for almost a minute straight. Were they really making the Unspeakable Draught? She knew Slughorn wouldn't have assigned it if the Ministry hadn't approved it, but it was such a <em>huge risk <em>to take. Slughorn stood at the front of the class to assign partners. Each set he revealed garnered angry mutterings and hisses of disgust. Having stumbled across the Draught in her readings, Hermione knew that when brewed in partners, the potion makers had to have very dissimilar personalities in order to ensure that the poison and antidote were truly opposite and effective. If this is not done, the antidote would still work, but it would not be as fast acting and could still leave the poisoned dead if not taken quickly enough. Each potion would be unique to the brewer, no matter how closely anyone followed the book.

This was a nightmare.

Hermione allowed herself to panic for a full three seconds before she squared her shoulders. She could do this. She just needed to stop psyching herself out.

She listened as Ron was assigned to work with Ernie Macmillan, which she didn't think could be too disastrous. Harry was with Theodore Nott, and then she was with … no… it couldn't be. She would have to work with Malfoy? Surely Harry was more opposite Malfoy than _she _was and should therefore be his partner, and she almost suggested this, but Slughorn had already finished and told them to get to their new seats.

No one was happy.

Hermione turn around, spotted his blond head in the back at his usual spot, and waited for him to come up front to join her at her table, since Harry had, grumbling and cursing, scooped up his stuff to join Theodore Nott in the back. Malfoy acted like he didn't see her expectant expression, and continued to sit. Hermione was infuriated. Give up her spot? She wouldn't be able to see anything from back there! She angrily scooped up her books and stalked to the back. She was going to have to sit here _for over a month. _If Malfoy messed up her grade for the class, she would kill him.

"Well, we might as well get started," she said in the most business-like voice she could muster. Malfoy ignored her. His nose was an inch from his book, and there were deep lines in his forehead. He was probably only pretending to be reading so she would do all the work. She just won't let that happen! A little more insistently, she tried again. "What do you already know about this potion?"

"I know that I can't tell you know what I know," Malfoy snapped irritably. He still wouldn't look at her, and instead was focused on the page. "Now shut the fuck up! I'm trying to figure out how to get started."

Was he serious? Was he really that big of an idiot? This had to be one of the worse classes Hermione had ever had, aside from all of Divination.

"Malfoy, you idiot!" Hermione hissed, her anger beginning to show more and more. "Did you listen to Professor Slughorn _at all?_ You can talk with the person that you are brewing the potion with. Otherwise there would be no point in the partners method, because all we would do is sit next to eachother!"

Instead of replying, Malfoy closed his eyes for a moment and breathed hard through his nose, clearly trying to keep his temper in check. Hermione felt a wave of satisfaction. It was widely known that Malfoy was on a closely monitored probation. It was the only way he was allowed to come back to school. He couldn't do anything that might be perceived as antagonistic. At least not while any professors were around, and Slughorn was still standing at the front, watching them all with apparent delight at the mess he had created. Malfoy couldn't risk it. Maybe this arrangement wouldn't be as bad as she thought.

Quite some time later, Hermione had given up on her idiot partner. He was still sitting with his eyes closed, breathing hard through his nose, and now apparently grinding his teeth. Hermione ignored him completely not. She had been reading through the directions, making notes here and there, working on a list of key terms she would need to look up in the library. The classroom was eerily quiet, save for a quiet mutter here and there. There seemed to be plenty of people staring at their partners as if they thought they were mad, though. This project seemed insurmountable, but she was determined. As long as she checked everything that might give her a hint of how exactly to proceed… she wanted to double check everything before she even began any mixing process, because the results from an improper beginning could manifest in the end and ruin a month of hard work. Not to mention she would fail!

Finally, the bell rang. Hermione turned, planning to ask Malfoy if he intended on helping her at all, if maybe he would help with independent research, but he was already halfway to the door. He was definitely planning on using her to skate through this. The Slimy Slytherin. Hopefully Ron and Harry's partners were more cooperative.

* * *

><p>The entire castle might have shook when Draco punched the wall in his dormitory. Blaise was stretched out on his bed, and he looked up from the potions book somewhat disinterestedly. Theo was sitting cross-legged on his bed, also with his potions book open in his lap. He only looked mildly more interested than Blaise.<p>

"_I can't believe I got paired with that fucking Mudblood!" _He spit out through a clenched jaw. _"Do you know what she did? _When she finally stopped trying to talk to me, she sat there and muttered to herself… out loud… for _the entire time! _She's a fucking psycho!"

Blaise looked back down at his book, but said, "I know what you mean. Try working with her. She's the most high strung Head Girl Hogwarts has ever had. Good luck on your probation, mate. This is really going to test your temper."

Draco's mind was reeling. She was insufferable. There was no way he would ever be able to work with her. His grades would suffer. Mother would be disappointed in him. Mother couldn't handle any more disappointment at this point…

Theo had also gone back to his book. "At least you weren't paired with Wonder Boy," he said vaguely. "He's an absolute idiot, no doubt used to Granger walking him through the simplest of tasks, but at least he seems too distracted to bother me much."

Yes, Draco supposed, being paired with Harry Potter would have been much worse. The Boy Who Lived To Be An Idiot would probably have spent the lessons purposefully antagonizing him until he lost his temper and got expelled forever. Draco knew Potter. He was much more devious than anyone thought.

His anger was beginning to subside a bit, coming and going in dull waves now, and he noticed his hand was throbbing. Draco looked down, and was mildly surprised. It was obviously broken. _Obviously. That's what happens when you punch a stone wall, _he told himself_. _He examined it interestedly for a minute: the purple slowly seeping in to tinge his pale skin, the blood preparing to drip off his knuckles and onto the thick carpet, and his first two fingers almost mangled looking and sticking in odd directions. The more his anger subsided, the more intense the pain was, coming waves. He sighed.

"Blaise…" he began, and held up his hand.

Blaise didn't even look at him, but he waved his wand and Draco's hand was perfectly healed, except for a few scrapes on his knuckles.

"Thanks," he grumbled. He hoped the rest of his classes went better.

* * *

><p><em>She could feel His hot breath on her face. It came quickly, but in excited bursts that were very different from the exhausted, terrified, seconds-from-death pants that passed through her own lips. She was shaking, and she knew He could tell, and she hated herself for showing weakness. It seemed as though His eyes were right up against hers, and she found that she could see nothing else. They moved a bit in erratic, jerking motions, drinking in the sight of her fear, though they never left her own eyes. His pupils were dilated hugely. The grey and silver intertwined tightly in his iris and displayed a pattern that clearly said these were the kind of eyes that had seen terrible things, they had seen other people commit terrible acts, and they had undoubtedly watched His own hands commit equally terrible crimes. These eyes, set in a seamless silky white skin, knew the way death looked, and they knew that they were going so see it again soon… <em>

_He lifted a hand slowly, the invisible moon reflected off his too pale, too smooth skin, and his fingers flexed strongly in preparation for the action they were about to take. His long, thin, terrifying fingers, probably wanted nothing more than to push on her windpipe while he watched the life drain slowly out of her with those eyes… maybe some dark blood would be permitted to run cleanly from a cut on her neck, dripping to stain the ground, tracing clean-cut paths of warm horror over His own fingers while he held her still…_

* * *

><p>Hermione woke up panting, terrified, and quietly sobbing. She ran her hands frantically over her neck. The skin was still intact, smooth, dry from blood... He hadn't touched her, but the anticipation of the feeling was enough to send her into hysterics. The other girls seemed to be sleeping soundly, but she wasn't concerned about that at the moment. She sat up quickly, threw her face into her hands, and sobbed through her fingers, tears dripping down her chin and running down her arms until they fell off her elbows and soaked her blanket. It had stopped working. The draught. It lost its hold over her subconscious mind. <em>The dreams came back, and they were worse. <em>


	4. Chapter 3: To Be A Ghost

It wasn't unusual that Hermione would spend her free time in the library. In fact, most of the fifth and seventh year students could be found there at any given time of day. The day wore on, and she continuously would pack her bag and troop to class, then return to the library to set up camp the very next chance she got. Harry and Ron came in during their breaks too, both of them also had a lot of research and writing to do, and Ginny would come to sit with her every now and then. Once she would see them approaching, she would hastily shuffle around her papers and books, hiding the ones that had to do with dream interpretation and magical methods of sleeping. What would they say if they knew she was looking at _dream interpretation _of all things? After she walked out on Trelawney? But Hermione was desperate. She just wanted some sort of scrap of evidence to show that she _wasn't _crazy… that she _wasn't _losing her mind… that she _was _going to be able to sleep again…

"Hey." Ron unenthusiastically plopped next to her, and Hermione smoothly pulled a piece of parchment with potions notes on it to cover the one with scribbles of sleep potion names, many of them crossed out, and odd phrases such as _"Why me?" _scrawled in the margin. She really was losing her grip. She wouldn't allow Ron to see the full extent of her crazy.

"Hello, Ronald. Where's Harry? I thought he was going to come work on Potions with us."

Ron shrugged noncommittally. "Dunno. He got all weird when we were talking to Loony and told me he would meet us in a bit before he ran off. I don't even know where he was going." He looked glumly around at the other students, scribbling on parchment or flipping through books, some of them already with a frantic edge to their movements. "I guess we should go ahead and get started."

"Oh, brilliant, I've found a few books with loads of information in them. I think they'll really help!" said Hermione with enthusiasm, gesturing towards a couple stacks of thick books set on the end of her table. Other books were scattered and open to seemingly random places where she had been cross-referencing facts.

Ron's mouth dropped open in a comical way. "'A few'? Hermione, these will take ages to go through! There's no way we'll ever get through them in time for Monday! And you know Slughorn expects us to start the actual brewing process on Monday…"

"Relax, Ronald. Only one stack is for Potions. The others are books that I think could help us defeat… well… you know."

"Oh." Ron still looked rather grumpy, as each pile of books was still massive. "You know," he started, clearly desperate for anything to prolong the moment before he began his work, "Malfoy was lurking outside the library. He looked very suspicious. He practically sprinted down the hall as soon as he saw me."

She sighed. "He was probably just making sure I was doing all the work for him. Well, I won't! I won't let him have such an easy time." She was determined. She would not make this easy for the slimy Slytherin. He would be sorely disappointed when she refused to do the work for him. The poison and antidotes wouldn't come out perfect if she did, and that was the whole reason they were supposed to work in partners after all.

And so it went all day, between classes. Hermione had been very entertained when Ernie MacMillan had showed up in the library and insisted that he and Ron worked together. They had retreated to a more private table in order to talk openly, and Ron had sat moodily, making faces at Hermione every time Ernie looked down. Hermione alternated between being very amused and very stern with him. It was almost like things were back to normal.

But they weren't. Her thoughts were eating away like battery acid at her capability to think straight. The exhaustion… the dreams… the eyes… Though she was exhausted from sitting awake the previous night, she dreaded the moment the sun would set and the darkness would come, bringing with it flashes of silvery orbs shrouded by fury and the want, no, _the need_ to murder.

Harry never showed up to the library, much to Ron's dismay. It was obvious he was looking for any reason to get away from Ernie, who was powering through books and notes almost as quickly as Hermione. She finally heard him behind her, "No, really, Ernie. I need to go back to my common room. I have to get a start on that Charms essay, and my book is in my room…" and he was at her table again, "Are you ready?" he hissed.

She smiled, taking care not to openly laugh at the dark look on his face. "I'm just going to finish this up real quick. You go on, find Harry and see what he had to do that was so important. He's missed almost a full day of work now!"

Ron didn't need to be told twice. "Later, 'Mione," he called back, and he whipped out the door and was gone.

Hermione finished the note she had been copying down from a book she had to get special permission to read:  
><em>Moste Potente Potions<br>"There are many reasons why it is more desirable to work with a companion while brewing The Unspeakable Draught of Death. The most important of these is to ensure that the Poison and the Antidote have different properties put into them, as the personality of the Brewer is just as important in this case as the ingredients are, and differing personalities will increase the effectiveness of both the Poison and Antidote."  
><em>She knew that already.  
><em>"The reason for the differing personalities, however, will be deemed worthless if the proper care is not taken when deciding who tend to the poison, and who will look over the antidote. The Brewer of the Poison portion…"<br>_That was new. Pleased with her find, she finished her note and packed up. She had a large block of free time tomorrow and would be able to get more work done without the constant shuffling back and forth between library and lessons.

She hurried to the common room. It was getting late. The corridors weren't as brightly lit as they had been during the day. Darkness danced in the corners, begging her to look into them, but she knew better now. Her heart began to pound without explanation. She slowed her pace so the sounds of her footsteps were quieter, drawing less attention to her. The darkness flitted ahead of her in the corners and between statues, it seemed to be laughing at her, taunting her, tempting her to just take a little peek at it, but she kept her eyes firmly on the floor ahead of her. She knew darkness only brought terrible visions with it.

She was close now. She walked faster, disregarding the slapping of her feet on the ground, the feeling as though she was being watched crept up the back of her neck and made her hair bristle. The familiar feeling of being pursued rose up violently in her throat, panic buzzed down to her finger tips, and she broke into a full run until she skidded to a halt in front of the Fat Lady.

"Good Lord, is something wrong?" she asked, taking in Hermione's panicked look.

"_Canis Lupus!" _she panted, ignoring her.

Only when the Fat Lady had swung open did Hermione look behind her, down both ends of the corridor. There was nothing there except the darkness, still dancing in the corners, laughing openly at her now. She took a few deep breaths to calm her inexplicable nerves. She really was losing her mind.

Ron and Harry were sitting at their favorite table in front of the fire. Few books were open on the table, and each of the boys had a quill in hand poised over a scrap of parchment, but they were talking in low undertones to eachother. Hermione's suspicion that the books and work were a pretense to keep people from approaching them was confirmed as she got closer; their parchments were blank and she spotted a Herbology book open to a random page. Their first Herbology lesson wasn't until tomorrow.

"What's up?" she asked without preamble, and she was humiliated to hear an unsteady note in her voice. Luckily it seemed that Harry and Ron were too preoccupied to notice this.

"I think I've found another Horcrux. Listen, have you ever heard of Ravenclaw's Lost Diadem?"

They still had no idea where the Diadem might be. Harry had only heard Luna Lovegood mention it in passing, but a bit of digging around had told him that it was their best bet. They would need to prepare for their searches, but Hermione felt more prepared this time than she had when they had managed to find and destroy the locket. It happened by chance that she had noticed the picture of that Umbridge woman wearing it in the Daily Prophet, and they had blindly infiltrated the Ministry after securing special permission from McGonagall to leave the school for a few days. Unfortunately, their lack of planning lead obvious trails back to them, namely the fact that the days they had all missed lessons obviously corresponded with a huge breach of security. Luckily, there was no substantial proof to incriminate them, as the 'official' reason for them leaving was to enjoy an early Christmas dinner at the Weasley's since Arthur and Molly would be in Romania during the actual break. They had been sure to make an appearance at the Weasley's for just a bit, just in case. And lucky they did, too. Umbridge was furious, and she was pulling strings to monitor them more closely. Yes, when they had to leave the school again, they would have to be much more careful.

The trio threw around some ideas in the next couple hours, heads together, quietly discussing places that Voldemort had attachment to, blindly flipping through books on Hogwarts and its founders, looking for anything that might help.

They still had so far to go, and Hermione almost let herself become daunted by this, but really, there was nowhere to go except forward if they ever wanted to put an end to the fear and live a normal life. She repeated the Horcruxes in her mind, glad to have something to distract her from the anxiety that was circling her like a giant bird of prey. The diary… the ring… the locket… they were all taken care of. The cup… the snake… and possibly the diadem…

Far too quickly, it was time for bed and they trooped to their respective dorms. It had been such a long day. Hermione's head was whirling with worries about the impossible work load that loomed over her, the nervous excitement of getting closer to destroying another Horcrux, and the fear that her bed would once again become a prison of terror and restlessness. What other choice did she have, though? Her research of magical methods of a restful sleep had many helpful suggestions, from clearing her head at night before bed to potions and enchantments.

She changed and lay in bed, sleepily, finally, wanting sleep to come, and quietly attempted a Dream Catcher Charm. She took a gulp of her potion and rolled over. Perhaps _this time…_

* * *

><p>This was absolutely ridiculous. What a way to start the semester. What a fantastic first two days. The best anyone had ever had. First the potions, then the dream, the insurmountable amount of homework, the feeling of restlessness, hopelessness, frustration…<p>

Draco knew what tired felt like. The grainy feeling in his eyes that never seemed to leave. The dull ache between his shoulder blades that preventing him from a moment of relaxation until he could lay down. The thick, constant buzzing that fogged his head. All through the day, he had ignored the feelings, for he knew just how much worse they could get if he allowed this cycle to continue. He wouldn't stand for it.

Draco sat in the middle of the floor alone in his dorm. He had been there for hours, watching the sun set and the darkness slowly creep until it penetrated every corner, flooding under the areas under his desk, bed, making it impossible to see. He easily reached for his wand and with one smooth motion brought light back into the room to chase the darkness away. He couldn't deal with the darkness anymore. Since when has a Malfoy ever been afraid of the dark? He was a coward. He was incapable of solving his own problems. He was worthless, weak, and scared. What would his Father say if he could see him now, sitting on the floor like some common house elf, hair messed up, his features gaunt and without any of the grace and prestige that was supposed to come easily to all Malfoys? What would his mother say if she saw the mess around him, crumpled parchment, books scattered, and a single glass that was continually filled to the brim with Fire whiskey?

He took another great gulp of the drink, and relished in the lingering burn in his throat. This was his last chance at remedy. He had popped in the library hoping to find a book on sleeping potions, or dream potions, or anything that might help, but instead had spotted Granger, the freak that she was, and Draco had promptly turned on heel to leave only to run into the Weasel. He nimbly avoided the red-haired menace and stalked off. Granger was probably already eagerly starting her research for potions and Merlin knows what else, judging by the amount of books that were around her. The last thing he needed was to be accosted by the frizzy-haired freak about their Potions project. He had already done a bit of reading, but by Merlin, he would do it in his own time and away from public eye. He didn't need to be seen with that poor excuse for a witch. He couldn't handle her mutterings or her breathings or her continually begging him to help.

Merlin, for being so tired, his thoughts sure were running quick. Another great gulp. Draco stood and waved his wand. His books and parchment flew into their proper places, stacked on his desk and in the trash bin, quills returning to the edge of his desk, and the fire whiskey and glass in the center of his desk. All of this, though, perhaps a bit more haphazardly than it would have had he not been downing his drinks for the past couple hours. As entertaining as drinking and homework was, he was passing the point where it would be wise to continue to try to work, and Blaise and Theo would probably be returning soon. It would be better if they didn't see the complete state of his disarray.

Draco lay down on his bed over the covers, just for a minute, he promised, swearing mildly over the state of himself.

The whiskey would do its job. Alcohol had never before failed to dull his thoughts and throw him into a deep sleep. He was confident now. His previous anxieties seemed far away. If only he had thought about the age-old remedy earlier.

And without intending to do so quite so quickly, he fell asleep, lights on, robes on, shoes on.

* * *

><p><em>The thrill of the chase pumped his blood hot and fast through his veins. He had her trapped. She was sobbing. She was going to grovel. She was going to beg for her life, and he couldn't wait. No, now she was standing, turning to face him. It was better this way. He would get a good look at her unabashed terror and the desperation shining in her eyes. It was best when they were desperate. He would get to see the true kind of person she was in the seconds before her death… it was another one of his favorite parts.<em>

_She had turned to face him, shaking and soaked in tears, but she had turned. It was foolish to be brave. He gazed hungrily into her eyes. He didn't want to miss a single moment. From the tears that brimmed, the wide and frightened stare, the clearly horrified yet determined way they looked right back at him..._

_This would be his favorite attack, kill. His favorite brush with a human who would be acting in the most animalistic and desperate acts of self preservation._

_His breaths came in excited pants. The time was coming nearer. He could sense it. Her breaths came quickly too, though in a shaky, forced, unsteady way, struggling to pass through her pink tinted lips. He could count the freckles on her face. The grooves on her lips. The webbed reflections in her big brown eyes._

_It was time, now. _

_Steadily, slowly, easily, he raised his right hand, knowing that it would find her throat in time. But he wanted to test the waters. Watch her react to his every move. Experience every moment of her learning that death was close. Her eyes suddenly shifted from his own and her head turned a fraction of an inch to watch his hand. A strand of thick brown hair fell over her cloak. Dirty, damp, tangled, holding the history of her trek through the forest. She gave a shuddering gasp, and another cold thrill racked his heart, body, mind. _

_He slowly flexed his hand, stretching the skin tight, as he watched her pulse quicken in her exposed neck. Exposed was best. It made it cleaner. And easier to watch. He couldn't wait to feel that warm blood trickling through his fingers…_

* * *

><p>The first week of classes could not have gone any worse. The weekend could not have been any more torturous. Weekends, though filled with assignments, usually also had plenty of leisure time, as Draco could work at his own pace. Quick bursts here, long drawn out meals, plenty of time spent half-assing essays with his concentration wavering…<p>

But this weekend had been different. Draco supposed he was a full blown insomniac now. He also thought he might be going crazy. Certain, unimportant things, like the color of his coffee, the smell of the greenhouses in Herbology, the whispering sound of the wind, they all brought back the terrible visuals that made him toss and turn during the night, too ashamed to turn on the light, too uneasy to close his eyes. He would lay there in the dark, sometimes illuminating his wand dully to scan books, but his mind was far past the point of functioning properly, and the books served no real purpose aside from having something to do with his shaking, aching hands.

Was it possible to die of insomnia?

It was Sunday night. Or perhaps it was Monday morning. Blaise and Theo came in late, undoubtedly having been abusing Blaise's Head Boy position in some way. Terrorizing anyone unlucky enough to be in the corridors even seconds after curfew. Reading books from the restricted section that they had no practical use for. The usual.

Draco had been laying in the dark, staring at the canopy above his bed, eyes stinging with tired, dark circles once again smeared visibly under his eyes, hair unkempt and falling in his face, waxy skin reflecting the little light there was in the room… he was a mess. A bloody mess. And he didn't know what else he could do about it.

Blaise and Theo had entered quietly, though both of them were sniggering slightly, until Blaise had noticed Draco's eyes were open. "Merlin… you look awful, mate." Draco shifted his gaze so it rested on Blaise, but didn't offer a reply. It was true. And if Blaise, the king of indifference, had noticed, then he probably looked worse than he thought he did. Insomnia did that to people. Dying did that to people. _Was _he dying? Draco had never died before, but he assumed that it would feel something like this… slowly wasting away… going mad with the waiting.

Upon realizing their roommate was not going to respond, Blaise and Theo had gone to bed. Soon their even breathing and slight snores could be heard.

Lucky bastards.

Why was it so easy for them? It should be easy for Draco, too. He experimentally closed his eyes, and for one blissful second, he felt the healing process of sleep begin, but then a pair of mad, wide, brown eyes swam in front of his own, brown hair framing their fear, and his eyes snapped open again.

_He was not a murderer. _He had _never _killed anyone, especially not someone with those eyes… He would never forget those eyes, now, he knew. It was as if he _had _killed her already, the amount of pain he felt thinking about it. He had never even touched the dream girl…

A terrible swooping sensation overtook Draco's stomach, and dread settled as heavy as lead all over his body. Dream-Draco's hands had flexed with the anticipation of settling around the girl's throat and feeling her blood, but suddenly Real-Draco felt sick. His hands began to shake, and with horror, he felt bile rising in his throat.

He only just made it into the bathroom in time. And now he was so weak from heaving, he was covered in sweat, and his mouth tasted _terrible. _Draco sat back on the bathroom floor, not registering how filthy it probably was, not worrying about getting his pristine pajama's dirty, not knowing that Blaise had suddenly sat up, being woken by the sounds Draco had made in his moment of weakness. Limply, he managed to get on his knees, stick his head under the faucet, and get a drink of cool, refreshing, rehydrating water, before he slumped back again and rested his hot head on the cool wall.

The lights suddenly came into existence, and Blaise was standing in the doorway with a politely interested look that Draco had become so used to over the years. "You're really sick," he stated simply.

"Fuck off," Draco managed to spit out, now putting a great effort into twisting himself into a better sitting position. He was humiliated. Surely no Malfoy had ever before been seen in such a position, eyes drooping, stomach churning, too weak to stand.

Blaise leaned against the door frame and looked thoughtful. "Do you need help?"

"Fuck off."

"I can take you to Madame Pomfrey…"

"_Fuck off."_

"…I really think you should –"

"—_I'm FINE!"_

Blaise's 'politely interested' look was threatening to become a full-on 'worried friend' look with every second. "Look, mate," he began. "I'm not trying to make you uncomfortable, but you look like Hell, and you clearly feel like it. This has been going on for long enough. I think you need some sort of help."

So Blaise had known Draco had been struggling 'for long enough'. Perhaps he was more perceptive than Draco had given him credit for. Still… he didn't want to show weakness… With a great effort, he pulled himself to his feet and leaned over the sink to get another drink and splash his face with the cleansing water, taking his time to answer Blaise. Finally…

"You're right. I need to see Madame Pomfrey. But not tonight. I'll go tomorrow. I'll be fine for the night."

Blaise seemed to accept this, and he promptly went back to bed. Draco returned to lying in bed with his eyes open, begging the world to give him a break, begging to experience again the sweet release of a dreamless sleep.

* * *

><p>It had been a bad night. Of course, by this point, saying "I had a bad night" might as well have been "I had a night just like any other" as far has Hermione was concerned. She was tired of everything. The repetitiveness was getting to her. She couldn't function. Harry and Ron were openly trying to discuss with her what was wrong, but she couldn't bring herself to answer until pure coffee had replaced the blood in her veins. And still her answers were curt and laced with exhaustion.<p>

Her day became a living Hell when she got to Potions and Malfoy, the git, was missing. What was he playing at? Did he honestly think he could just not show up and she would do all the work? Could anybody honestly be so thick? And Hermione had her first public mental breakdown for years. Since the fiasco with Divination, she had usually managed to keep her temper in check, but this was just too much.

To her credit, though, she did manage to keep the situation a little more private than last time. She had marched up to Slughorn's desk when it became apparent that Malfoy wasn't going to show up. Only a quarter or so of the class had noticed. She ranted and raved at him, only a little bit of hysteria corrupting her tones. She couldn't believe that he could pair her with such a foul git! And could you please, _Professor, _assign her a new partner, or even allow her to attempt to work alone to produce an imperfect Unspeakable Draught? To prevent Malfoy from getting credit for _her _work? She was not quite at a full shout. Only a little over half the class was watching her interestedly.

"Well, ah, my dear, I'm afraid I must excuse him for today, because he is in the hospital wing –" Slughorn tried to sputter, but upon hearing the location of her _partner_, Hermione turned on heel and left the room. It was only at this point that 100% of the class knew what was going on, and all pairs of eyes followed her out the door. The stupid git was obviously faking some sort, any sort of ailment in order to be excused from Potions. Anything to have less work to do. The stupid, cheating, foul, slimy…

Her anger had not wavered at all by the time she made it to the Hospital Wing, and she was delighted to see Malfoy just stepping out, waving away a concerned Madame Pomfrey, who finally retreated. No sooner had the door clicked closed than Hermione had shoved a hand into Malfoy's chest, pinning in against the wall.

"What the fuck is your problem?" he shouted angrily, trying step away from her anger. But Hermione's anger was fierce, and he would not ruin this for her.

"Stop it! No. _You listen to me!_ Just because you've gotten away with it in the past does not mean that _I'm _going to let you step _all over me _and get away without putting in _any effort –"_

But she stopped right there. She only came up to Malfoy's shoulders, so it had taken a minute for her furious crackling brown eyes to travel up from his usually perfectly cared for cloak, which was fastened off- center, to his unshaven chin, sallow skin stretched over his pale, pointed nose, right up to the grey eyes, which were flashing angrily at the sudden unprovoked confrontation.

An electric charge surged through her, causing her jaw to slack, her eyes to lose their anger and widen, and her hand, which had previously been busy pointing a finger in his chest, fell limply to her side.

_I know those eyes. _She had seen them almost every night and day for the past month. _Those are the eyes that are going to kill me. _And from the looks of it, those eyes knew it, for Malfoy's features had also gone slack for a split second before he bolted, dropping the book he had been carrying where he had stood, robes whipping around the corner within a matter of seconds.


	5. Chapter 4: Chills, the kind that Kills

The second _her eyes _had met his, every minute detail of them registered instantly. A sharp intake of breath drew in quick over his chapped lips. An electric shock raked his body from head to toe, stunning him momentarily. _He knew those eyes! _His mind had gone blank except for those two words that repeated in a sick sort of echo, tormenting him: _those eyes… those eyes…_. Simple "fight or flight!" took over his body, and Draco had no choice but to give in to his instincts as "flight" won out. It hadn't been more than a second since their eyes had met. He didn't even notice that he had dropped his book. He was hardly aware that his feet were taking him away as fast as they could move. His heart pumped pure adrenaline through his veins, making his arms ache and his head pound and his fingertips pulsate, and he felt more alive than he had for a month as he bolted down the corridor, anything to get away from _those eyes_, running for his life.

_What… the…. fuck… was going on? _His mind hissed at him. What was _wrong _with him? It was _her _eyes he'd been dreaming about night after night. It was _Granger _that he had been dreaming of killing. Dream-Draco was obsessed with _those eyes_… and her blood… thick, hot, wet, dark red dripping down her neck, between his fingers, staining his hands…

_But he was not a murderer! _He forced the memory, no, the dream, from his mind. His footsteps slapped hard against the floor as he tore through the hall, dodging students and professors alike. A few of them tried to call out to him, but he couldn't hear over the pounding in his head coupled with the words ringing sharply in his ears. They were some of the last that Dumbledore had spoken directly to him.  
><em>"Draco… you are not a killer…"<em>

With each step the words resonated deep within him, pulsing as strongly as the adrenaline providing a haunting comfort, and Draco's feet pounded until he was in his dormitory staring at his bed with a look of pure horror struck upon his face. The beds were all neatly made. The desks were all clear except for a bottle of ink, a quill, and a couple pieced of parchment. Everything looked flawless, just as it had been left. The cleanliness of the room was mocking him, making fun of his disorganized disturbed mind.

He was alone. He stood there, adrenaline still flowing through him, causing him to shake violently, but he did not make any attempt to sit. He couldn't. He couldn't move. He continued to stare ahead, unmoving except for the compulsive flexing and unflexing of his long pale fingers. He could see nothing in front of him except thick black fear. The feeling of the zinging shock lingered, though less intense, buzzing gently from his brain right down to his toenails.

It was only when he was alone that Draco would have allowed himself to reach a full state of panic, but now that he was alone, he was unable to act upon it. Unable to think except in disjointed, terrible, hissing thoughts that sounded strained even in his mind.

_Those eyes… those eyes… _He could describe them down to the last detail, the long dark lashes that curled around them, clinging to the tears that were falling… Dream-Draco had been waiting with bated breath for Granger's blood to run through his hands. It was sick. What sorts of serious issues did Real-Draco have?

_But it wasn't a normal dream! _ There were details in that dream that he was _positive _he had never noticed in his waking life, so there was no way his subconscious could have ever tormented him with them. Like that web so finely spun by the colors in her eyes, starburst around her pupils, the exact shade of milk-and-coffee brown, golden hues, the very light freckles that sat high on her cheekbones…

Draco had _never _been so close to her that he noticed all these insignificant traits, but there they were in the dreams, clear as day, accurate down to the last eyelash. _What the fuck was going on? How was she in his head?_

Draco heard the door open behind him, and finally found that he still had the ability to move as he whipped around to see who dared to disturb him in the middle of such a crisis. Blaise and Theo looked slightly surprised to see him.

"I thought you were going to be in the hospital wing?" asked Theo mildly.

Draco didn't answer. He didn't know if his voice would work properly. At the moment it felt like there was something large stuck in his throat. Theo seemed unconcerned by this odd behavior and lay back on his bed to stretch out. Blaise did the same, though he held a book up as well.

Draco ignored them and instead started pacing, still clenching and unclenching his hands, so tense that his muscles burned not with fatigue but with constant use. The adrenaline still coursed strong through his veins, and he felt like he needed to do _something¸ _but he didn't know what could possibly relieve the pressure that was building in his head.

"That Granger freaked out when you weren't in class today. She practically screamed at Slughorn before she ran out of the room. I got the impression she was going to hunt you down and kill you," said Blaise mildly, conversationally, innocently from behind his book. Draco froze, but didn't turn to look at Blaise. Of course he would choose to use that phrase at this exact moment. He didn't know the significance of hunting and killing in Draco's life right now. Or maybe he did. Draco was beginning to feel like everyone was just fucking with him now.

No, Blaise was probably thinking about the last time Draco had been forced to interact with the woman, and was wondering if his strange behavior had something to do with her. Of course Blaise would never say this out loud, though, he was just trying to provoke Draco into saying something. The fucking sneak. Draco wouldn't let him manipulate him so easily. He ran from the room, feeling his roommates surprised eyes on his back.

Wasn't there _anywhere _in this fucking castle where he could have a moment of peace?

Obviously… there was… and Draco ran to the Room of Requirement, where he had spent the majority of his previous year.

He walked among the countless artifacts stacked high in a maze, breathing hard, nostrils flaring, fighting with himself every moment not to trash the piles and piles of items. So Granger had obviously had some sort of moment there in the hallway, too. What was she doing in his head? Was she purposefully infiltrating? Was Granger a practiced Legilimens? Was she possibly tormenting him with those images as the Dark Lord had done countless times to drive his victims to madness? What a sick and twisted way for someone who claimed to be good and pure to torture…

Anger flared hot and wild in Draco's chest, and he was seconds from bursting from the room to track down the dirty mudblood and confront her, but before he reached the door, the image of her waking life eyes flashed before his own once again: wide, terrified, dumbstruck, bloodshot with lack of sleep…

She was caught off guard just as Draco had been. She wasn't doing this to him.

_What the fuck was going on?_

* * *

><p>She stared at the corner where Malfoy had disappeared in shock for almost a full minute. <em>What... just… happened… <em>

A tingling feeling lingered in the tips of her fingers, proving that the electric shock she felt had not been imaginary, heat of the moment, or anything else she might have otherwise used to explain it away. Hermione was practical, after all. But there was simply no explanation for the feeling, which was comparable to nothing she had ever experienced before.

Her mouth was still hung open in horror, and tears welled up in her eyes, but they didn't seem quite ready to fall. Those eyes… _Malfoy's eyes_… they were unmistakable. Though the situation was very different than every other time she's seen those eyes, it was clear that they were the same. They were a perfect match, as detailed as a finger print, the grey and silver interwoven in a pattern that she knew like the back of her own hand. There was no way her mind could have fabricated something that was so intricate and correct in every way. Her eyes had met these eyes countless times, yet oddly, the situation had been reversed this time – she had been the predator, and he had been the prey.

The full extent of what had just happened hit her with the force of a brick wall. She wouldn't have been surprised if she suddenly got a nosebleed. _Malfoy's eyes belonged to the man that had chased her night after night_. No, his eyes didn't just belong to that man. _He was _that man.

Slowly, as though waking up from a deep sleep (as if she remembered how that felt), she became aware of her surroundings. The corridor was luckily still empty, for she surely looked like a loon standing there by herself with her mouth hanging open. More to have something to do than anything, she shifted her heavy bag and stooped to pick up the book Malfoy had dropped when he fled.

_When he fled_… He hadn't ran until the second their eyes had locked. _He felt it too! He knew!_

The book was bound in royal purple, seemed oddly plush, and the title was stitched in thin gold thread across the front:  
><em>The Dreamer's Guidebook<br>_Confused, she let it fall open in her hands. The name on the inside cover said that it belonged to Madame Pomfrey, so she must have lent it to Malfoy for some reason…

Flipping through the contents, she discovered that the book was all about magical ways to control your dreams and to ensure maximum rest.

Malfoy certainly had looked worse than she had ever seen him. He had looked sickly with his yellow, waxy skin, his hair had been a mess, and the dark bruise-like circles had taken over the entire under-area of his eyes….

_His eyes…_

Hermione shook her head to rid herself of the image and shuddered. She clutched the book tight to her chest and, forgetting all about the important potions lesson she was missing (that would surely affect whether she passed or failed), she began to march towards the library, determined to think this through and figure it out. Her legs ached with exhaustion, her head pounded, and her eyes felt dry and grainy, but all of that had been driven from her mind at the sudden urgent feeling she had.

_She had to figure this out… _Malfoy clearly wasn't enjoying the dreams if he looked like hell and was researching ways to control them. This was the most comforting thing Hermione had discovered in a long time. He didn't want to kill her. She had other essays and work she needed to be doing, but some things were more important. She couldn't function without sleep and would surely fail everything if this puzzle wasn't solved soon. Malfoy was obviously just as distressed as she was, and they _needed _to make this stop _now_, or she was going to continue to waste away...

As usual, the library had a smattering of fifth and seventh year students across the tables, but Hermione ignored them all and made a bee line for the most secluded table in the far back corner. The lighting wasn't as good, but she was still shaking slightly and felt she could use all the privacy she could get. She set down her bag to mark her spot and began her search. She pulled books off the shelves seemingly at random, looking for anything that would explain a mental connection, dreams, insomnia, eyes….

But she wanted to disguise her crazy, and so she grabbed a few random potions books to add among her mix, making it look as though she was simply doing school work. _Potions…_ she had just walked out on Slughorn on the very first brewing day…

Her stomach seemed to plummet to her toes, and she promised herself that she would go see him before the day's end to apologize profusely. Not feeling much better about the way she had acted, cheeks burning from delayed embarrassment, she returned to her table and chose a book at random to begin what she hoped would be the end of this nightmare.

* * *

><p>He had calmed down, now, and was beginning to think clearly once again. Draco hated to admit it, but everyone knew Granger had brains. They were overlarge, obnoxious, begging for attention brains, but they did their job better than anyone else's in the school. It killed him to even think it, but if anyone knew what was going on, and how to stop it, it was Granger. But Draco was also proud. In fact, he was proud of his pride, despite the fact that it had almost ruined his life a handful of times already.<p>

He sat on the dirty floor in the Room of Requirement, but it didn't matter. His tailored school robes had lost their pressed, clean glow probably about the same time Draco's own face had. He supposed it was because he had become rubbish at taking care of himself.

He leaned against a sturdy pile of Merlin-knows-what, and stared at a cabinet not unlike the one he had spent all his time repairing last year. Without even thinking about it, he pushed that thought quickly from his mind. Repression at its finest.

There really wasn't any reason to put it off, but Draco continued to eye the odd ensemble in front of him anyway. On top of the cabinet stood an ugly and chipped bust of some warlock he didn't recognize, and someone had put a dusty wig with long curly hair on it, and an old tiara sat on top of that. Someone clearly had too much free time.

He would just have to suck it up and talk to her. He knew it had nothing to do with pride, but rather, it was basic survival, self preservation, and that was something that all Slytherins, especially Malfoys, were good at. He would have to talk to Granger eventually. If she had any ideas of how to make this shit stop, then he needed to hear them immediately. His heart seemed to pump half-heartedly these days, and he was beginning to worry that you _could _die from insomnia…

Granger would probably know the answer to that, too. He let a heavy sigh escape his lips and, with extreme effort, bones creaking, he hauled himself to his feet and began his journey to find her, reassuring himself that as long as she knew how to make him sleep, then forcing himself to talk to her would be worth the effort. He just had to be careful not to throttle her.

It was the middle of some block of class time, Draco guessed, because the halls were deserted. He didn't remember making a conscious decision about where to search for her, but his feet began to the trek to the library. It was pretty obvious that if she wasn't in her dorm that she would be in the library. There was really no need for a conscious decision.

With each step in the right direction, dread settled a little deeper in the pit of his stomach, along with embarrassment that this was what he had to resort to. Asking the frizzball nuisance for help. He never thought he would ever be in this position after years of publically tormenting and humiliating her. Draco was used to solving problems on his own, either with his own hands or by manipulating those around him.

When he finally reached the library, he felt rather sick to the stomach from the dread and embarrassment and hopeful anticipation that this would all end, and he peered in the door to scan the room, half hoping she wasn't there, but her big brown hair was hard to miss, even though her back was to him. The other dead giveaway was the unmistakable Potty and the Weasel duo on either side of her. _Dammit to hell! _Why did they have to be here? They seemed to be talking in a close, concerned manner, heads tilted towards eachother, whispering intently, probably talking about how much they love it when people pay attention to them. Probably cooking up the next attention-grabbing performance. Probably discussing how to get more people to worship them. Even though their backs were to him, he shot them the iciest glare he could muster under his current state of mind and exhaustion.

Scarhead and Weasel probably wouldn't stick around too long. Granger was always here for hours before and after their appearance. Unfortunately, Draco wasn't exactly a library regular, much preferring to borrow books to read in the solitude of his own room. He easily spotted the table to the side that he could simultaneously hide at while keeping an eye on her, but it was occupied by a couple first year girls, snot nosed, whispering, legs dangling from the too-tall chairs and swinging back and forth with pent up energy. The exact kind of first years he hated. So he walked up, gave them his most menacing look, and whispered, "Get out."

The two girls froze, wide-eyed and frightened, before snatching their books and bolting out the door. Perhaps being a perceived murderer had its perks. He grabbed the biggest book off the shelf next to him, and in a very Granger-like attitude, buried his face in it.

* * *

><p>Harry and Ron had her cornered in the library. Her heart thudded loudly, and she was sure they could hear it. Sitting closely on either side of her, it was virtually impossible slide her chair out and escape, even if she <em>could <em>think of an excuse to flee.

Harry jumped right in. "Hermione, what is going on with you?" This was it. They were going to see how utterly insane she had become. His green eyes focused on her own, narrowed in concern; firm, unwavering, suspicious, complex concern.

She turned to Ron, and he wore a nearly identical look, though he looked more confused and worried than anything.

This was the end of the road. She had to tell them. At least part of it. "I'm… just…" her voice wavered, and she looked down, cheeks burning, eyes beginning to prickle.

"We've been so worried about you, 'Mione. You look terrible. You've hardly said five words to us in the past week," Ron began gently. "And then when you yelled at Slughorn… well, I do love seeing you yell at other people for a change," he allowed himself a slight smile, but a stern look from Harry got him back on track, "but wasn't like you to lash out like that. Especially unprovoked."

_I guess I caused a bigger scene than I thought I had… _Just one more thing to add to her list of crazy person behavior.

"I've… not been sleeping," she began, and was relieved to hear that a stronger tone had come to her voice. She could do this. She would tell her best friends the truth. At least part of it. She started to ramble a bit. "I'm so tired all the time. It's put me on edge. I feel like I'm constantly out of control and falling. I can barely control my own actions anymore, and I know I've been hurting you two, and I've been hurting myself, and I just…" she took a steadying breath. Should she mention nightmares? No, definitely not. Harry of all people would demand more details.

"What do you mean you 'haven't been sleeping'?" asked Harry. Darn. He was too perceptive. She knew that Ron cared about her just as much as Harry did, if not more, but he wasn't one to ask questions. She knew that they had rehearsed this conversation, and probably agreed that it would be best for Harry to lead the majority of the discussion. "Have you just been working too late, or are you too stressed and keep waking up, or –"

"—I mean I lay in bed and stare at the ceiling for hours every night," Hermione interrupted, a little irritated. She had meant exactly what she said. "I suppose I might drift off for a few minutes here and there, but never more than that."

Ron looked downright alarmed. "You… what? You haven't been sleeping _at all?" _And he took a long, scrutinizing look at her, perhaps the first time he had in weeks, and she watched as he put together the slumped position of her body, even as she tried to sit at attention, the odd tinge to her skin, the unsteadiness of her hands, which she was wringing anxiously in her lap, and the slightly swollen circles under her eyes. "Blimey, Hermione…" he whispered in horror.

"Have you been to see Madame Pomfrey?" asked Harry, also alarmed. She nodded, already tired of this conversation, though it didn't take much to drain her of the little energy she had these days. "And she couldn't help?"

"She-" Hermione stopped. She didn't want to tell Ron and Harry much more about her sleep, her dreams, the revelation she had had only a couple hours ago… "She has, actually. I… I have some Dreamless Sleep Draught and a book now that I think will help me a lot…" She had stuttered over her lie, but she didn't think Harry or Ron would notice.

They sat in silence for a bit, Harry and Ron thinking quietly, Hermione basking in the relief that came with telling her best friends her secret, even if it was only part of it. They had earlier known that she was having some difficulties, but this was the first they had heard of the full extent. Or, at least, what they _thought _was the full extent. She didn't know why she hadn't just taken the plunge to fill them in on every detail, except that they would probably cart her off to St. Mungos immediately, but she was heartened by their reactions and knew that she would be able to tell them everything eventually, even if it was just little by little.

She looked down at Harry's watch. "You guys are going to be late for Care of Magical Creatures. Hagrid will miss you." Harry hesitated. Him and Ron had amended their schedules this year to include Hagrid's class, after Hagrid assured them that he had nothing too dangerous planned, and they had managed to scrounge up enough students for a class period. Hagrid had been delighted, and though he hadn't exactly stuck to his 'nothing dangerous' clause, they had all enjoyed spending extra time together for their last year.

Harry stood slowly, still obviously a bit uneasy. "I'm perfectly fine for now, I promise," she assured him, and he relaxed enough to smile. Ron gently clapped his hand on her shoulder and they left.

All in all, that had gone better than expected. She knew that they were going to spend their next class discussing her sleep problems, and she knew that they were going to try to help her through it, but she also knew that there was nothing they could do to help when they only knew the most basic reason behind her odd behavior. She pushed her hair out of her face and looked down at the books in front of her, trying to remember where she had been before Harry and Ron had found her. Good thing she had decided to start with the books on insomnia, for Harry had probably taken notice of it since it was sitting right in front of her the entire time.

She took a deep breath, silently hoped that the reason for the madness would be found, and began to read, but someone had approached her table and was standing next to her. Her eyes traveled up the well-fitted black cloak and onto the face of Draco Malfoy, before they met _his_ eyes for the second time that day. The zap buzzed through her body causing her to jump slightly, but she did not look away. It was a very intimate feeling to look at the eyes that she knew wanted so desperately to kill her, despite the fact that right now they were fearful. She felt the familiar panic rising in her chest, and was glad when his eyes shifted suddenly to the side, then the floor, where they seemed to settle on his feet. He seemed to be stealing himself to say something, but Hermione found her voice first.

"What do you want?" she asked, voice shaking slightly, looking back at her book, pretending to be busy, pretending she wasn't scared of him, pretending she was in control, as she had tried (and failed) for the past month. She would not cause another scene here. There were people around. Some of them were looking interestedly in their direction, no doubt having heard about her mental breakdown in Potions, and wondering if she was going to start yelling at Malfoy right then and there.

He still hadn't answered. She picked up a quill to fiddle with in what she had hoped would be a nonchalant manner, so people would quit looking at her, but her hands were shaking so bad that she dropped it immediately. So she sat on her hands instead.

"_For Merlin's sake, Malfoy, at least take a seat before you wet yourself. People are staring at us," _she hissed angrily, still not looking at him, afraid of the electric feeling, afraid of the fear, afraid of the images they might stir up.

The chair next to her pulled out, and she immediately understood that unlike Harry and Ron, he hadn't chosen it to be closer to her, but rather so that their backs were to the rest of the room, allowing more privacy.

"I…." he started, and Hermione was startled to see that his own hands were also shaking. Sideways glances. Their eyes met again, though neither turned their head to fully look at the other, the short uncomfortable buzz jolted her slightly again, and it was obvious how angry and frustrated he was. _"I need help!" _he finally whispered.


	6. Chapter 5: Show Me How To Live

His hands were shaking, showing weakness, and he knew that she could tell. His words had come out not in a drawling, confident, couldn't-care-less-about-her-response way, as he had hoped, but in a quavering, strained way that immediately alerted her to his uneasiness. He hated himself more in that moment than he had in a long time. Even more, he hated how he was now waiting with bated breath for her response. Him. Draco Malfoy. Slytherin. Wizard extraordinaire. Disgusting.

Granger was certainly taking her sweet fucking time answering him. She was probably enjoying this, watching him squirm. Sadistic, masochistic, bane of his existence. She was scribbling something on a bit of parchment, apparently ignoring him, and Draco squirmed uncomfortably. But he refused to break to silence so quickly. Instead he took notice of all the books on her desk, many of them having titles to do with sleep and dreams. He almost allowed himself a smirk. _Almost. _This was it. She obviously had the answer to his questions right here. All of this was going to—

"I don't know if I can help you." She had finally put down her quill, but hadn't looked up yet.

Three seconds of silence. _"What do you mean by that?" _he hissed angrily. She was going to hold out on him? Was this revenge for the years of him teasing her? For aiding in Dumbledores' death? For making their potions project harder than it needed to be?

It was probably all of those things. Fucking Gryffindors. They thought they were so noble. They thought they could excuse every terrible thing they did by their own twisted version of _the greater good. _They –

"I mean what I said, Malfoy," she said sharply, turning to look at him. Neither of them flinched when the buzzing sensation zapped them this time. They stared hard into eachothers eyes. Draco was determined not to be affected by the brown he knew so well. Granger looked angry. And skeleton-like. Unhealthy. Disgusting. "I can't even help myself right now," she said. "If I could help you, I probably would… as long as you pulled your weight in Potions."

A white flash of rage shook through Draco. So this is how it is going to be?

"_I don't believe you," _he hissed again, furious. Hissing was his only option at this point. He knew if he tried to speak normally then he would end up shouting. Of all the self-serving, selfish things… Draco was clearly struggling to get through his days. He _needed _this. The mudblood was obviously lying to him to get him worked up, and probably make him work extra hard on their stupid project. He was so angry he couldn't think straight.

"_I know you know what's happening to me. Tell me how to make it stop!" _He demanded. His eyes so sharp and so narrow they could cut glass.

Granger met his gaze unflinchingly, stonily. "As flattering as it is that you are assuming I know the answer," she said coldly, "I assure you that I don't."

But… but… this couldn't be happening! He never would have bothered talking to her otherwise. He had forced himself to talk to her for _nothing. _What a waste of breath, time, energy. Granger was a waste of life. And to think he had admitted to himself, if only for a second, that she had brains. His mind was reeling. She was stupid. Ignorant. She didn't understand. He couldn't seem to string any sort of response together. His fists were clenched. His hands shook with cold hard fury. And the nerve of that Granger, she still didn't look away!

"But… that doesn't mean I'm not looking…" she amended, her eyes wide. Was she scared of him? Of his reaction? Good. She should be. If they had been anywhere but the library, he would have exploded. But Madam Pince kept her scrutinizing eye over every student in the room, and he knew that any sort of outburst would violate his probation and possibly send him straight home. Mother would be so disappointed.

He took a few slow deep breaths to gather his thoughts, and his next words were strained, and to his horror, tinged by a pleading note. "You haven't found… anything…?" And she shook her head solemnly, eyes still wide. "Granger… what… are you… have you been having… dreams?"

It was at this point that she finally broke the intense gaze between them. She looked back down at her parchment, her book, her hands, anywhere but at him, he realized.

"_Yes…" _she whispered, pained. "And they won't stop. I'm a mess because of them."

She was a mess. Draco agreed. But so was he.

"Malfoy, I think…" she began, speaking in a rush. Her voice cracked, and Draco realized with a start that there was a slightly hysterical edge to her voice. She was losing it. Absolutely bat-shit crazy. Despicable. At least he had the decency to keep to himself most of the time. Idiot Gryffindors wore their hearts on their sleeves. "I think we need to work together to figure this out. I can't keep living like this. I can't sleep, but I can never be fully awake anymore either. I can't eat. I'm paranoid of everything. I keep seeing…"

As if she suddenly noticed how insane she sounded, she suddenly cut herself off. But Draco knew exactly what she was talking about. Every word. And he didn't need her to finish her last sentence. _I keep seeing your eyes… everywhere… _

"What?" he asked with venom in his voice, deciding to ignore her little rant. "You want me to work with _you? _ If this is some sort of attempt to get me to do the fucking potions work—"

"—I'm not saying we have to get along, Malfoy," she interrupted, some of the ice back in her voice. He glared at her. How dare she interrupt him. The whole situation was making him sick. _Sicker. _"I just know that both of us are having some… issues… and they are obviously connected to eachother in some way."

She was right about that, at least. They did seem to be connected in some bizarre, insane, unavoidable, fucked up way. Again, Draco felt a wave of hatred for himself. At least she didn't seem to expect him to get all friendly with her.

"And what would we say when people ask about our research rendezvous, or random collaborations, or whatever it is you're thinking we're going to be 'working together' on?"

Granger rolled her eyes so hard he thought she must be dizzy. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe that it's our _potions work? _You know, it wouldn't kill you to work with me on that either. A lot of our grade depends on this project, and the directions are so specific."

There were so many things Draco wanted to call her. _Waste of space. Know-it-all. Filth. Mudblood. _He wasn't as angry as he had been in the beginning of their conversation, but his hands still felt unsteady. Malfoys don't have unsteady hands. She was doing this to him. _The dreams _were doing this too him. And suddenly, the full events of the day seemed to crash over Draco's head like a bucket of water, and his body slumped just a little. He was just _so fucking tired…_There was no other option. They had to make it stop if he ever wanted to know again what it was like to walk without an aching back, to speak without the gritty hoarseness in his throat, to blink without the constant burning of his eyes…

He was defeated. He came for a simple answer from Granger, hoping she could tell him with one word or less how to solve his problems. Brevity was best with Granger. And now he was wrapped up in a situation that he felt would decide whether he lived or died.

"Can you die from insomnia?" he asked, surprising himself.

"Theoretically… It's never really been done before, but it is possible."

He was well on his way to being the first. From the looks of it, Granger was too. He reached over her and grabbed a book.

"I guess we should get started," he grumbled. The sooner they figured it out, the sooner she was out of his life, the better. Granger said nothing, but continued on with her own book and parchment.

* * *

><p>At first, Hermione could not focus at all. She thought she might be in shock. After all, she had never expected Malfoy to listen to what she had to say as if it was reasonable. True, he had accused her of lying, he ground his teeth, gave her looks designed to turn her to stone on the spot, and at one point looked as though he might actually punch her in the jaw, but he had listened. She supposed he realized, as she did, that their lives were intertwined now, whether they liked it or not, and they might as well keep their most harmful thoughts to themselves.<p>

Her head was foggy, there was a constant buzzing that seemed to be resonating from the base of her skull, and her usually neat handwriting was beginning to look like that of a two-year-olds, but she pressed on. Unfortunately, there just wasn't much to take notes on. Malfoy seemed to feel the same way, for he hadn't even touched his quill. His parchment remained blank, and he skimmed through his book, fidgeting almost constantly and frequently sighing in an audible, frustrated way. For the most part, she ignored him, and he ignored her.

Time passed slowly, dragging on and on. Harry and Ron returned from Care of Magical Creatures, and Hermione knew they probably wanted to talk with her a little longer, but she waved them away, already putting the 'Potions' excuse to work. Malfoy had paused in his reading long enough to bestow them a wrinkled look of disgust at their presence. Ron had turned red and Harry had glared angrily, but confrontation was avoided for the time being.

She cradled her head in her hands, elbow resting on the table, for just a minute, to rub her eyes. She couldn't take it anymore. "Have you found anything?" she asked, still noting his clean parchment.

"No," Malfoy responded curtly. He kept his eyes on his book.

"Do you think we should… talk about it? So we can make sure we know all the similarities we can look for in books?" she suggested tentatively. Malfoy was an angry person in general, and he was new to her. She also knew that he was very sleep deprived, as was she. Any little thing might set him off. She hoped that they found the answer soon so she didn't have to bother learning about all his triggers she needed to avoid.

"The similarities are pretty obvious, Granger," he drawled condescendingly, then rattled off: "One, we can't sleep. Two, we're having nightmares. Three, they aren't normal dreams. Four, nothing seems to make them stop. Five, we keep getting these weird buzzing feelings." He looked at her as though he was so very superior, and Hermione watched angrily.

"I just thought there might be specific details—"

"—I don't think specific details will help us with general research." He was so pretentious. So condescending. So irritating. He was purposefully trying to make her feel inferior to him.

"Fine!" she snapped. "Fine! I was just trying to help. After all, you _asked _me for it."

And she knew she had gone too far by bringing up his moment of weakness. Malfoy drew in a quick breath, and seemed to hold it for a second, before he stood suddenly. His chair noisily fell back. He locked eyes with her, and slammed his book shut hard, clearly indicating that the blow was something he would much rather be inflicting on her, before he strode out of the library, robes billowing angrily behind him.

Madam Pince swooped down on Hermione. "Really, now! This is a library! Show some respect!"

Hermione didn't bother to tell her that it was _Malfoy _that had almost ripped her book to shreds. She didn't think she had the energy. For the second time in the past couple hours, she had really thought that Malfoy was going to punch her in the face. This was not a good start to their work.

_Well I guess we won't be working on Potions later, then. _

* * *

><p>The day had felt like a year. All his days had felt like years lately.<p>

Draco had skipped dinner that evening. He had chosen instead to pace angrily in his room for a while. When that wasn't enough, he once again let the wall know exactly how he felt with his fist. When that wasn't enough, he quickly settled for throwing his stuff around, crashing ink bottles against the wall, ripping down the hangings, making a mess out of everything until the usually neat dormitory looked more like how his head felt these day. Good thing Blaise and Theo were at dinner with the rest of the school. Good thing Crabbe and Goyle had dropped out to join up with the Dark Lord. Good thing he was alone.

Draco was not as adept at healing spells as he would have liked. _I need to practice more, _he thought vaguely as he, once again, watched his fist swell up, fingers clearly broken, blood dripping from his knuckles onto the floor, leaving little drips here and there, dark red like Grangers. _What was wrong with him?_ He had never before lost his temper so frequently, but then again, he had never before been forced to work closely with Granger. She would be the death of him.

Once again, Draco was sitting in the middle of the floor with his fire whiskey and glass. He might as well have some drinks if he wasn't going to have dinner. It would numb his thoughts and his painful, throbbing hand while he waited for Blaise to show up. Blaise was great at healing spells. Draco thought he was probably better at them than Madam Pomfrey, though he didn't know nearly as many remedies.

Ink dripped off the walls like the blood dripped off his hand. Crumpled hangings and parchment littered the ground, and the leg was broken off his desk chair. Draco almost laughed wildly at the tantrum he had just thrown, but he supposed he already looked clinically insane enough. Maniacal laughing would not help his case. _I really need to get my temper in check, _he mused as he downed another glass and examined his hand interestedly.

It was at that moment that Theo and Blaise returned, both stopping dead in their tracks, though neither seemed incredibly surprised. They had lived with Draco for seven years. They knew he had a temper. In fact, they had walked in on almost the exact same image at about the same time last year when Draco had been trying to repair the Vanishing Cabinet, continuously failing, sure that he was going to be murdered by the Dark Lord at any time. They had probably suspected something like this would happen when he had stormed from the room earlier that day. Draco gave them a drunken, though genuine, apology, asked Blaise to please heal his hand, and then stood and, with of wave of his wand, helped them clean up the mess he had made.

When they finished, Draco returned to his spot on the floor, not quite finished drinking his fill, while his roommates began pulling work out of the bags, sitting on their beds cross-legged, spreading out books and parchment in front of them. What nerds. He leaned against the foot of his bed, head back, and closed his eyes to enjoy the warm burning in his throat, courtesy of the whiskey, reveling in the blank slate his mind had taken around two or three drinks ago, when Blaise interrupted his non-thoughts.

"You know, Draco, I really think you're losing it," he said, matter-of-factly. Draco opened his eyes to look blearily at his friend, who hadn't even glanced up from his work. Blaise was so blasé. Theo was too. Actually, it was kind of a Slytherin trait to appear laid-back and unconcerned at all times. Draco had been failing miserably at this nonchalance for a while now.

"Yeah," he finally responded. "I think I am too. Fire whiskey is the way to go out, though."

Theo grinned. "At least you have your priorities in order."

Draco conjured two more cups for each Blaise and Theo, filled them, and held them up expectantly. They reluctantly slid off their beds to join him on the floor. Theo was obviously eying the amount of work he had laid out.

"To our good health," said Draco, raising his glass, and even Blaise cracked a rare smile, for Draco had probably never been unhealthier.

They spent the next few hours toasting to everything they could think of: the end of their years at Hogwarts, fast approaching; Salazar Slytherin, the most talented of the Hogwarts founders; attractive girls, who kept them occupied during the years. Eventually they ran out of ideas and resorted to sipping their drink, reminiscing about how their lives had been intertwined since such an early age, until they finished the bottle. They laughed like they were 11 again, carefree, innocent of the darkness of the world, unconcerned about NEWTS and careers and the future, until they crawled into their beds, bellies warm, heads happy, and promptly fell asleep, the three of them snoring loudly.

* * *

><p>Hermione awoke with a start to a light room. When had she fallen asleep? She remembered crawling into bed, fully prepared for and dreading a sleepless night, or at least one riddled with terrifying images of the chase, blood, and Malfoy's murderous eyes. But none of that had happened. Nothing had happened. Her jug of Dreamless Sleep Draught sat next to her bed, as she still gulped from it dutifully each evening, hoping, wishing for a miracle. Had it finally begun to work again for her?<p>

She was still up earlier than her roommates, earlier than she was used to, earlier than she would have liked to been, as she still felt as though she could sleep forever. Relief washed over her body, though, and she was completely relaxed into the thick padding on her bed. She could have cried she was so happy. She couldn't remember ever feeling such a release of tension from her body as she did now. She basked in it, closing her eyes, a smile playing at her lips. Thank Merlin.

There were few expectations that this would become a regular restful night for her. She knew better than to allow her hopes to get up, as they had been so readily crushed so soon after she first started drinking the Dreamless Sleep Draught. But the bliss of a single night without watching the clock, or worse, experiencing her own death over and over, was enough to promise her that this would be the best day she's had in over a month.

She got ready for the day in the best mood. _I will not let anything go wrong today, _she thought determinedly, as she examined the not-quite-as-dark circles under her eyes. She took extra time in the hot shower, brushed her hair thoroughly, feeling like a new person with a new start, ready to take on the world.

Only one cup of coffee today. A hearty, nourishing breakfast. Normal conversations with Harry and Ron, who were watching her closely and were openly pleased with her demeanor. The previous night they had attempted to talk to Hermione a bit more about her sleep problems, but she assured them that she was making progress, and they dove right into discussion of Voldemort, Horcruxes, and the Lost Diadem. Harry seemed convinced that there was a Horcrux in Hogwarts, as it was what Voldemort considered his first real home, but she thought that was reaching a bit…

Hermione took excellent notes all day long. She was very kind to everyone, and her classroom performance was phenomenal. During a break, instead of going to bury herself in the library, she allowed herself a stroll through the deep snow around the lake with Harry and Ron. The sun shined bright, despite the frozen ground, and she smiled more than she could remember smiling before.

It was such a beautiful day.

Her afternoon classes went just as well as her morning classes, and she couldn't keep the smile off her face. She couldn't remember what is was like to have this much energy. She couldn't remember what it was like to smile, have fun, be happy. Though night was fast approaching, and she had promised herself not to get her hopes up, she couldn't help but feel optimistic. Inwardly she scolded herself, and her smile faltered for a second, but she would not let anything ruin her good mood. Not today. Not when she had actually _slept. _

At dinner she ate until she felt bloated and surely could not manage another bite. She sat chatting with Ron and Harry after they had finished meals. She felt so relaxed, so cheery, so free. But as they chatted, she noticed the familiar tall, lean figure in his perfectly tailored robes standing. A bit of the happiness that had caused her heart to swell all day drained out of her. Had he also had a good night of sleep? It would probably be a good idea to see if their dream nights aligned. If she headed him off and got him to the library, she might be able to convince him to work on a bit of Potions, too. Slughorn had excused her outburst and her absence with no questions, and suggested that she and Malfoy come during an evening to make up their work, so wouldn't fall behind the rest of the class. She strongly suspected that Harry had something to do with his nonchalant attitude, and she was very grateful.

"Everything alright, Hermione?" asked Ron. Harry looked concerned too. She realized she had half-risen from her seat, and she was frowning in concentration.

"Oh, yes, I'm sorry. I just saw Malfoy across the room. I think I'm going to go try to get him to the library." They understood now. Nobody could be smiling while anticipating interaction with the Slytherin, unless it was right before you got a good punch in.

"You'd better hurry before he gets away, then," said Harry, a little disappointed, but understanding. "We'll catch up to you later."

Hermione bade them goodbye, dreading another encounter with Malfoy, but knowing that it needed to be done. He had been so angry with her yesterday, and she shivered involuntarily remembering the ice in his eyes, locked with hers, as he slammed the book shut with a vengeance. Embarrassed by her sudden hesitation, she quickly shook the feeling of dread from her and began jogging through the corridors, her dinner thumping around uncomfortably in her stomach, until she saw him about to turn a corner ahead of her in the hall.

"Malfoy!" she called loudly so he would stop, and she immediately cringed. She never in a million years would have thought she would be trying to get his attention, even if it was out of necessity.

He stopped and turned, a frown marring his pale features, hair falling into his eyes. He waited for her to catch up to him, a bit out of breath. He didn't say anything. He just continued frowning at her. Waiting for her to speak. He was so unabashingly rude. She flushed, but was determined to remain civil.

"I was going to the library, and I thought I would ask you to join me, since we have work to get done and all." His eyebrows raised, perhaps at her perfectly polite tone. She knew she wasn't deceiving him, though, as her eyebrows were knit together also in a frown. It was hard to talk to him without getting angry.

"Granger, I would rather eat a flobberworm."

She opened her mouth angrily, ready with an acid-toned comeback, all pretense of politeness gone, but he kept going.

"However, I realize how important this is, so I will join you."

A tingling smell wafted under her nose as he spoke, and she wrinkled it in disgust. "Have you been drinking?" she asked sharply.

A brief smirk crossed his face, but immediately disappeared. "I had a couple with dinner," he offered vaguely.

She was furious with him! He KNEW she was going to insist they work together, and he drank on purpose. The proud smirk he was trying so hard to keep off his face was telling her all she needed to know. The slimeball had deliberately prepared an excuse to not get anything done. She wasn't going to let him get out of work so easily. She would make her work through it. She would teach him a lesson. Deep breath, in and out, she was going to keep her temper in line.

She turned to head to the library, knowing he would follow, and he did. "You realize you just admitted to the Head Girl that you have been drinking in the dorms?" she asked coolly, when the flare from her temper had died down.

"You're not going to do anything about it," was his self-assured answer.

"What makes you think I won't?" she asked defiantly.

"Because if you were, you would have done something already."

She suddenly stopped, turned on heel, and pushed him hard against the wall. _"DAMMIT, _Malfoy!" He kept grinning at her. She was furious with him. As angry as she had been when he skipped Potions. Her hair crackled with electricity, and her eyes bore into his. _"DO NOT _test me today! I was having a great fucking day until I decided to ask you, _courteously, _if you wanted to work together. You might have had your little temper tantrum yesterday, but I am _not _going to put up with your _shit _tonight. _Do you understand?" _

* * *

><p>Her finger shook with anger as it poked into his chest with surprising force, her eyes flashing, her face taut, and still Draco grinned. It was just like their early years when he would provoke her. She had too much pride. She probably had almost as much pride as he did, and that was quite the feat. She still had her brown eyes locked on his own grey, staring daggers.<p>

_I've never heard her say a curse word… _he mused to himself, unconcerned by the situation. It was only her finger in his chest, after all, and not her wand. He decided the foul words suited her, perhaps made her a little more formidable. Calling someone a "cockroach" just didn't have a very good effect after the age of ten or so.

"_Well?" _she asked furiously. Oh, so she was still waiting for an answer. Draco wasn't going to give her one, but he composed himself enough to wipe the smirk from his face, and she seemed to think that was good enough. She backed off and continued ahead of him to the library. He'd really only had one drink with dinner, but it amused him to no end that Granger thought he was incoherent. It made her so mad. Draco loved making her mad. And for the first time in a long time, he felt as though he was up to it. A good night of sleep could do wonders. He had had such a good night reminiscing with Blaise and Theo as if they were all as close as they had been as boys, and he had a spectacular morning when he woke up with his alarm clock. He had almost forgotten what it sounded like.

He arrived at the library only a minute or two after Granger, but she already had books piled on the table in various piles. Probably by subject, corners perfectly aligned, alphabetical order by the author's last name. As he approached, he saw that he was right. Merlin, she was so predictable. He took a seat next to her as before, and reached for a book, but she interrupted his movement.

"How did you sleep last night?" she demanded.

Draco blinked. "Fine, actually. Better than I have in ages. But I had quite a bit to drink beforehand, so I'm sure—"

"—No, I don't think that had anything to do with it. Malfoy, I slept perfectly last night too, and I didn't do anything differently. Do you remember when you had your last dream? Was it…" she flipped through some notes. "Was it Monday night?"

She plowed through her questions, anger still evident in her voice. He could tell she was determined to get answers from him today. He humored her the best as he could, and watched her jot notes after each question. Typical Granger. She was unashamed of her compulsive research methods, wanting only to get to the bottom of it. It would have been admirable if she wasn't such an annoying little beast.

But now Draco was getting so very _bored _with this. He understood, now, that their sleep patterns seemed to be matching up close to perfectly, if not completely perfectly, but he didn't see how this put them any closer to any answers, so he sat and scowled while she plowed on, twirling a quill between his long fingers, his mood darkening like a storm. They had already confirmed what she was trying to figure out. There was no need to keep asking about dates and times and other shit he didn't remember.

"Okay, I think that's enough to go off of for now," she finally muttered. "Now, about Potions…"

Draco accidentally snapped the quill in half. He stared at it for a second, eyes narrowed. This was the real reason she wanted him to the library. She didn't want to help him… no, she wanted _him _to help _her. _

"Malfoy, wait!" she interrupted his train of thought, and he realized he was about to stand up. That surprised him, and it unnerved him a great deal. Even after a full night of sleep, he clearly wasn't as in control as he should be. "It's just… I talked to Slughorn about possibly making up the class we missed some evening pretty soon. When are you free?"

It was awfully presumptuous of her to assume that he was going to spend his free time in that dreaded classroom. Draco used to love Potions until that abomination Slughorn made every lesson about _Harry Potter. _Fawning over him. Drooling over him. Begging him for admiration. It was a sick circle of narcism.

But then again, he knew that every day they put it off put them further and further behind the rest of their classmates, and this _was _an important project.

"Tomorrow," he said. It would be best to get it over with as soon as possible. Once they were back on track Granger would back off on the potion issue and they could focus on the task at hand. With a heavy sigh, dreading the hours of work that surely lay ahead of him, he chose a book at random to flip through.


	7. Chapter 6: 3 AM

_She was watching him closely, and though she still cried, her tears still poured and dripped all down her front, splattering gently onto the dry earth, and her breath still came with difficulty, tonight something different was reflecting in her eyes, which seemed to glow in the Dark Forest despite the impenetrable darkness that surrounded them. Her sobs racked her body hard and fast, looking almost painful. He loved it. He made a calculated and steady movement, swiftly bringing his right hand up, flexing his strong fingers, still watching her, wanting to see the sheer panic. Her heart pumped quickly, giving itself away by beating visibly in her neck._

_Still he hadn't touched her, but soon he would have her pinned up against that tree by her throat while his other hand did the job. He almost trembled with anticipation. It had been so long since he'd seen blood spill, felt it running through his fingers, spotting the ground, staining the skin…_

_Her eyes were focused on his hand, watching with wide, terrified eyes, surely knowing what was about to happen, when suddenly, her eyes snapped back to his. A jolt went through his body, though he refused to let shock replace the eager look on his face. Those brown eyes flashed with an unmistakable sense betrayal, accusation, fury, defiance, no fear was left in them, and she wasn't sobbing anymore. How dare she try to ruin this for him with her fucking bravery?_

_But it was never ruined, for the best was still to come. This was it. It was time to watch her squirm, thrash, beg, plead, cry, bleed, die…_

_With terrifying speed, he lunged forward to close the already barely-there gap between them, fingers flexed, nails exposed, the feeling of control flooding back through his system. She didn't have a chance in hell._

* * *

><p>Hermione jolted awake. Panic was rushing through her veins, her entire body was as tense as if she had a body bind curse put on her, and her eyes prickled, but for the first time since the dreams had started, she did not cry.<p>

Still she lay there shaking and trembling and trying to slow her breathing. _He almost touched me… _She couldn't explain why the idea of Dream-Draco touching her was so much more terrifying than any of the other dreams combined. _He had been so close… _She had felt the warmth of his hand, a millisecond before it crashed up against her throat,air had stirred, rushing past her neck with the quickness of his movement, but she had woken up before any contact was made.

She sat up a bit on her bed and put her head between her shaking knees.

She had had a couple nights of actual rest now. One more was all she wanted… it would have been so nice to sleep in on a Saturday… but it was still very dark outside.

Though her and Malfoy hadn't exactly been getting along, they seemed to have reached an unspoken agreement to only speak about their shared problem so that nothing personal was ever drug up. It seemed to be a good solution for their research, but Potions class still seemed to spawn many arguments with it, mainly due to their different brewing styles.

Although it was taking a while for the shaking to stop, Hermione suddenly sat up again and looked around the room. Something was different about this Waking. Something was a bit… off. She squinted, trying to focus on the shapes around her, but Lavender and Parvati were both unmoving, breathing deeply. They were still asleep. There was no one else in the room. And then she realized just how calm she was. _That's _what was so weird. She held up a hand and watched it shake for a minute. It was obvious she wasn't in complete control of herself, but… she remembered her previous awakenings clearly: the harsh sobs that had raked through her body, the unmasked panic that she had become so well acquainted with, the extreme frustration and helplessness that engulfed her entire life…

Yes, this Waking was different. She was much calmer, despite the fact that Dream-Malfoy had almost touched her. That event was so much more frightening than anything that had happened so far, and yet she felt ten times better than usual. It was odd.

Perhaps it was because she knew who the predator was now. Maybe her subconscious was taking back a little control, realizing that Hermione was spending hours researching solutions (though neither her nor Malfoy had found a single helpful word yet). She supposed there could be a few contributing factors to her suddenly calming down a bit.

She was so used to laying in bed with thoughts swirling fast around her head, making it almost impossible to even see sometimes, that it took a minute for the soft _tap-a-tapping _to rouse her. Undoubtedly due to having a best friend with dangerous enemies, the hair on the back of her neck stood up and, with reflexes that had proven themselves on many occasions, her wand was instantly in her hand and raised, ready to strike. It was then that she spotted a handsome eagle owl outside her window with a note. _Of course, _she thought. _Malfoy would be awake right now too. _

Curious about what he was sending her, wondering if he was simply bored out of his mind with the night as she was, she opened the window to retrieve the letter, and the massive owl dutifully held out his leg for her. It took off into the night the second she had it free. A cold breeze blew across the grounds and into the room, and she quickly closed the window, a little more forcefully than she had meant to, but Parvati and Lavender slept on.

She unfolded the bit of parchment, smoothed it out, and held it to the window where the moon, high in the sky, reflecting off the snow, illuminated it enough for her to read his thin, spiky handwriting:  
><em>"I found something. Room of Requirement."<br>_Short and to the point. Typical Malfoy. She should have been irritated that he sent her a letter so late at night (or was it early morning? She had no idea), but he knew she was awake whenever he was. She should have been offended that he didn't even ask if she could get out to meet up, but he knew she was adept at sneaking around the castle. She should have been mad that he didn't even give her the chance to respond, just in case she wanted it to wait until morning, but he knew that she was just as desperate as him for any answers at this point.

Eagerly she changed into her clothes, deciding that she was already up for the day, so it didn't really matter. She wished she could think of a good excuse to wake Harry up and borrow his invisibility cloak, but "I'm sneaking out to meet with Malfoy" didn't seem like something he would go for. Unable to think of a believable excuse after a few minutes, she cast a simple disillusionment charm on herself and started on her way. She would have to be extra quiet in the halls; a disillusionment charm, no matter how skilled she was, wouldn't make her completely invisible.

* * *

><p>Draco paced in the Room of Requirement, which had taken the form of a mostly empty room, save for a replica of the table in the corner of the library they were so familiar with and a roaring fireplace. Just the bare essentials. Just the way he liked it.<p>

What was taking her so long? He knew she was awake. They had managed to determine that much through their endless, result-less research. His owl had never before failed to deliver something for him. He took a small flask out of his pocket and took a hearty drink, before screwing the lid back and slipping it back into his robes.

Finally, just as he was getting ready to give up on her, the door opened just a crack, and then shut again. He heard a soft murmur, and Granger made herself visible again. _Finally._

"It took you long enough!" he snapped, though he was excited about his find, and wanted her to see. Eagerly, he turned to the table, where he had set a book, and started flipping through it to find the right page. He could hear Granger approaching behind him, and then an angry gasp.

"How did you get that?" she demanded, indignation lacing every word. She must have spotted the soft purple binding on the book.

Draco was unconcerned, still trying to find the right page. It had been close to the end of the book…

"What? I took it…" he answered, distracted.

"It was in my bag!" she almost yelled.

"Yes, yes, it was," he said, still not looking up, flipping quickly through the pages, scanning them. He really should have marked his spot, he just didn't think he would forget the page number. There had been something significant about it. "It was in your bag, but I took it, because it is mine."

He glanced up at her. She looked furious. Pink tinted her cheeks.

"You went through my bag?" she demanded, daring him to answer, it seemed.

"Yes!" he said, both to answer her question and because he found the correct page. 568. It was almost a representation of his birthday. How could he have forgotten that? His mind really was elsewhere these days. "Look at this!" he stepped back triumphantly, pointing at a spot in the margins of the book.

Granger seemed interested enough that she didn't say anything more about him taking his book back, but she gave him another frosty glare before stepping forward to pick up the book. The anger quickly drained from her face, along with most of the color. Draco knew exactly why. The text at the top of the page told her that the chapter was titled, _"Those That Withstand: The Dreaming Anomalies That Cannot Be Solved By Magic or Potion". _Not a promising start. But it wasn't anything in the content of the chapter that he wanted her to look at… it was the writing that someone had scribbled in the corner. It was not Madam Pomfrey's writing, which was large, thick, and loopy, but a small and messy affair, barely legible. Madam Pomfrey either got this book second hand, or she had lent it out before.

He watched Granger closely. She was staring at the scribbling on the page, her gaze so intense that he worried the book might burst into flame.

"It means, 'Dream of Mortal Enemies,'" he said after a couple minutes, disdainfully. Was Granger really so thick that she couldn't translate a bit of basic Latin?

"_I know what it means!" _she snapped at him. "I was just… I've heard the term before. I'm just not sure where…"

"It's not mentioned anywhere else in that book," he offered. "And I checked my school books, too."

Granger was still looking intently at the words in the book. Minutes ticked by. Draco fidgeted. _This is it, _he thought. _She's not moving. She's finally cracked for good._

Finally, she spoke out loud, reading the full four words that had been hastily scribbled Merlin knows how long ago. "'Somnium Mortalium Hostibus – Help?'"

Draco said nothing. Though he relentlessly made fun of it, he had been impressed by Grangers study methods and brain power. Until now. Now she seemed to be stuck in a rut, unable to put together her thoughts. Her mind just wasn't turning the way he thought it should. _Yes, thank you for reading it out loud, Granger. That really helped. _Maybe she just needed a little bit of a prod to get her going, like a boulder at the top of a hill.

"What do you think?" he asked.

"I think we need to look up Mortal Enemies… Hostes Mortale," she said, finally putting the book back down, a fine crease on her forehead.

"I already told you what it means—" Draco began.

"—I _know _what it means! Two people bound to hate eachother. There is a very powerful magical bond behind it. But we need specifics! Qualifications! We need –" she stopped, as a small, neat book case had appeared soundlessly at the other side of the room. "—books…" she finished, distracted, as she was already walking towards it to examine the covers.

Draco sighed. He knew they would have to get back to the book stage eventually, but he had hoped that the finding of something that could be tied to them would offer a break of some sort. Any sort of discussion to stimulate his mind. He was _so very bored _with books. Well, he _must _be very bored of them if he would rather have a conversation with Granger than read. It was tedious work. Reluctantly, resigned, he had just decided he might as well get started when Granger interrupted his thoughts.

"_Malfoy,"_ she said shrilly, piercing his ears, and he knew he would be in a bad mood soon.

"I'm _coming,_" he snapped.

"Not, that's not what … _Malfoy, _when were you born?" she sounded insistent, hurried, worried, a bit frantic, but her back was to him, sitting cross-legged on the floor, and he couldn't see what she was looking at.

"June fifth…" he said slowly, and he approached her cautiously, until he could see that she had four different books open on the ground in front of her. She was muttering to herself and running her finger down one page, stopping, then using her other hand to find something in a different book. Multi-tasking at its best. "Did you find something?" he asked, not wanting to get too close due to the insane vibe coming off of her: frizzy hair, talking to herself, books open everywhere.

"Shut up," she said instantly. His temper was beginning to flare again, but he worked hard to keep it in. They had been almost civil with eachother the past few days, for the most part, at least, and if they were getting close to finding the answer to making it stop, he wasn't going to jeopardize that by taunting her. He scowled and returned to the table, where he sat huffily and glared at her.

* * *

><p>There was list of criterion that had to be met in order for two people to be magical Mortal Enemies, Hostes Mortale, and Hermione read the list through three times before she became concerned. It was entirely possible that these would apply to her and Malfoy. Her heart fell a little. She reached up from her sitting position to pull down a couple more books from the case in front of here.<p>

So his birthday was June fifth?

She ran her fingers smoothly down the page with the criterion, and stopped her slightly trembling finger under the first bullet:  
><em>"MUST have been born under the same planet"<br>_She kept her finger in place while she flipped though a different book with her other hand. _June fifth… June fifth… 6-5…. _Mercury. She stared at the word. She had been born under Mercury as well. _But so has half of the rest of the wizarding world, _she assured herself, and she slipped her left hand down a little to reveal the next bullet.

"_MUST have opposing values"  
><em>That one was pretty general, but she knew instantly that it applied to them as well. Malfoy only looked out for himself. Hermione looked out for everyone around her, functioning as a group. That small fact affected the way both of them acted towards everything. _Fuck. _She closed her eyes and took a deep slow break through her nose. That's okay, too. The same would be true for any Gryffindor and Slytherin. On to the next bullet.

"_MUST have opposing blood lines"_  
>That was a no-brainer. The Malfoy family with their prejudice pure-blood mania couldn't get much more opposite from Hermione's wholesome muggle parents. But <em>plenty <em>of people could have these bullets apply to them. In fact, they were _all_ very general in their wording. It would be easy to misconstrue. Perhaps she was doing that now.

"_One of the pair MUST have the capability to kill"  
><em>Hermione stared at the word 'kill' for a minute, until it looked like it was buzzing on the page. She moved her hand and shifted her eyes to the single paragraph under the bulleted list.

"_Hostes Mortale are bound by the elements, causing them to hate and fear one another. It is impossible for these feeling to evolve, unless the spontaneous_ Somnium Mortalium Hostibus _comes in to play. If ignored, there is no stopping the dreams, which may come frequently or infrequently. The results are deadly. If allowed to play to the end, the dreams will eventually stop. However, if the pair survive _Somnium Mortalium Hostibus,_ some would argue their fate is worse than death. _

That was where it ended. The author of the book didn't think a little more information could be useful to the reader? A dull buzzing, like that of many bees, filled Hermione's head. This was what was happening to them. But _what _exactly was happening to them? The stupid book didn't say. She looked up at the bookcase again to scan the titles, sure that the Room of Requirement would have provided everything they needed, but an interrupting cough sounded behind her.

"_Well?" _drawled Malfoy. "You've been sitting there all quiet for quite some time now, save for that insane muttering you seem to be so fond of, and I would like to know what you found."

She blinked at him. Her mind was still processing the words, whirling quickly, but she stood and walked the book to his table, before sitting in the chair next to him.

"I… found it," she said, handing the book to Malfoy and pointing at the paragraph. And though she still didn't understand exactly what the book was trying to tell her, she felt an immense wave of relief rush through her. She had found it. They would be able to look it up and figure something out now. It didn't matter that it could be dangerous. It didn't matter that it would be difficult. The dreams would eventually stop, and her life would go back to normal. She allowed a smile to cross her face, and looked at Malfoy, who had finished and was sitting back with a thoughtful look on his face.

"It wasn't very fucking descriptive, was it?" he said crassly.

"But we've found it! We can look it up now, and we'll find the solution! We'll have the answer today! The dreams will stop, and we will be able to sleep again!" she was jubilant, and she laughed in relief as she spoke. Malfoy even cracked a smile, the first real one she had ever seen grace his face, and she swore she could see the tension leaving his shoulders.

* * *

><p>He couldn't help but smile. Granger was so obviously elated and relaxed about the prospect of finding and answer, it was contagious. But his mind was reeling. Yes, they would have an answer, but the criterion had been especially disturbing to him. Inwardly he had gasped loudly. In his imagination, he had thrown his head back in disbelief and grief and rage and disappointment in himself.<p>

"_One of the pair MUST have the capability to kill"_

That was him. There was no other explanation. Goody-two-shoes Granger, with her big brown eyes, shining with innocence at every turn. You couldn't kill someone with your nose stuck in a book all the time. And there she was again, searching the bookcase, face almost pressed up to the exposed binding.

They were obviously experiencing Somnium Mortalium Hostibus together. They clearly fit every bullet in the list of criterion.

"_Draco… you are not a killer…" _He had held so much contempt for the old bat Dumbledore, but the words had become a sort of mantra for him. Dumbledore hadn't thought Draco a murderer. Draco thought he could do it, but he couldn't, and the fact that he couldn't kill had given him so much strength after Dumbledore's death. He had turned himself around. After running away with Snape and the rest of the Death Eaters, he spoken with his mother, then went straight to the Ministry of Magic. They were already looking for him. He spoke to Scrimgeour, Shacklebolt, McGonagall, and many others, breaking down in front of them, explaining every dirty detail of his sixth year at Hogwarts. He had begged them for mercy, a show of weakness his father would have killed him for.

He was held in the ministry for three nights before he faced the Wizengamot, who put him on probation and ordered the best protection the ministry could offer to protect his poor mother at Malfoy Manor. She was untouchable there, as he was here.

The Dark Mark that blazed black on his arm was a constant reminder of his terrible deeds.

"_Draco… you are not a killer…"_

Draco hadn't thought so either, but apparently they were wrong…

The door to the Room of Requirement suddenly burst open, and in strolled that idiot Potter, followed closely by the Weasel. They both stopped dead in their tracks to stare at Draco, apparently in shock. Draco certainly was at first, but he quickly recovered and hitched his signature sneer into place. Fucking Potty and the Weasel barging in all over the castle. Some things never changed. Granger had stopped searching for whatever she was searching for, and turned to see them.

"Oh…." There was a pause. "Hey, guys," she said very awkwardly.

Draco watched in amusement as the Weasel turned redder and redder by the second. It was like watching a pot getting ready to boil, except at the end he was sure the red-head would simply explode.

"Hermione…" started Potter, obviously straining to keep his voice under control, though he too was a bit flushed in the face. "What are you doing here—"

Weasel interrupted, "Nevermind that, what is _he _doing here?" he pointed at Draco, hand a bit unsteady, emotions unchecked, weak.

"We were working, Ron," started Hermione gently, clearly used to the Weasel's outbursts, trying to keep him calm. "Remember we have that project in potions." She was clear and unwavering. Her lying had improved greatly, Draco realized. _I guess weeks and weeks of trying to convince people you're okay will do that to you._

"_Like hell, you were!" _he shouted. "We know you haven't been in the dorm since five. Parvati woke up when you left. Harry looked at his map, and you didn't show up on it. We thought you might have just needed a change of scenery or something. But… but you've been in here the entire time, _with him?"_

"We've been… we've been working on our potions…" Hermione started, beginning to falter under Weasel's unbridled rage.

"_Hermione," _Potter jumped in now. "Why did you leave at 5 in the morning to work on potions? On a weekend? With _Malfoy, _of all people? It's 10 in the fucking morning now!" Damn, had they really been in here for five hours? For once, the night had flown by. Potter wasn't nearly as angry as the red-head was. He was looking at Hermione in a more calculated way, Draco realized. Potter knew she was lying. Was he practiced at legilimency, or was he just good at reading her? He instantly put up his own occlumency barriers just in case. No fucking way was Potter getting in his head.

Granger looked very flustered by her two friends shouting in her face, and Draco noticed sparkling tears starting to build in her eyes. But she had been so happy only moments before. And this made Draco furious. She was getting berated only seconds after they had made a major leap together. They were both exhausted, scared, frustrated, and sick. No one deserved to be treated like this after the emotional roller coaster they've been on. Not even an annoying frizzy-haired mudblood.

"Look, Potter," he stood, fuming, and stepped between Granger and the two boys. Granger's mouth opened in a little 'o', and Potter and Weasley looked furious. "She told you what we were doing, and we're not quite done, so if you would just _leave _then we can finish up and get the hell out of here."

Weasel's hands were visibly shaking by the time Draco had finished his sentence. "You dirty little ferret! You're lying to us about something! What is it? Are you blackmailing her? Are you making her do all sorts of work for you or something? _What is it?" _

"GET OUT!"

Draco started, and turned around to look at Hermione, who was clenching her fists at her side.

"You two, get out NOW. We ARE working on something, and we are ALMOST finished, and now you guys are just making things worse!"

Tears fell openly down her front now.

Potter had the decency to back down a little, but Weasel was still red in the face, glaring at her. "Hermione, just TELL us! We can help you! You don't have to spend time alone with this scumbag! You _shouldn't _be spending time alone with him. We all know what he's capable of—"

"_WHAT _exactly are you trying to imply?" shouted Draco, cutting off the Weasel.

"Ronald Weasley, if you don't turn and walk out right now, I am going to jinx you from here to high hell." Her voice was cold, deadly calm. Her wand was out and held steady, unwavering, pointed directly at his chest. She meant it.

Potter was tugging gently at Weasel's shoulders now. "We'll discuss this later," he muttered to him. It took a minute, but he finally budged and reluctantly left, throwing angry looks at both Draco and Hermione on his way out.

Draco's blood pounded heavily in his ears, causing everything else to be muffled slightly. Granger was glaring at him, though not nearly as angrily as she had been at Weasley.

"You shouldn't have gotten involved," she said shortly. Draco groped in his robes for his flask. He needed a drink.

"They were hassling you. If you feel any bit as terrible as I do, then you would have killed them on the spot." He unscrewed the cap, hands a little unsteady again, and took a long drink before stashing it away again._ Killed them… killed them… _The words echoed in Draco's head, and a wave of nausea passed through him.

"Draco Malfoy, I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself, thank you very much!" she shouted at him. Potter and Weasley had gotten her all worked up.

"It's not my fault they're fucking idiots, strutting all over the castle as if they own it, thinking they need to keep tabs on you every second of every fucking day!"

"They are NOT idiots! Don't call them that!"

"They are _fucking idiots _who don't deserve to breathe this good air."

"You wouldn't even have the opportunity to breathe 'this good air' if it wasn't for Harry, you pretentious asshole! You would be—" Granger stopped mid-sentence, suddenly looking very scared.

Draco stared at her, his eyes blazing, his mouth slightly open. Hermione seemed frozen in place, except she was breathing rather hard. A full minute passed where they just stared at eachother, not saying a word, until his icy voice cut through the thick silence, sounding deadlier with every word. _"What do you mean, 'if it wasn't for Harry?' _Granger, What the _fuck _are you _talking about?"_

Her eyes darted around now, desperately looking for anything to settle on but him, but he reached forward to grab her shoulders. At the sudden physical contact, a buzz wracked through his body, but he ignored it. He gave her shoulders a desperate little shake, and she finally looked back into his eyes.

"_What did you mean by that?" _he repeated.

"When you turned yourself in…." she began in a whisper, staring directly into his eyes, tears welling up in her own, "He testified for your defense. He told them everything he saw, about how you were lowering your wand. About how… how scared you were….how you were only trying to save your family… He was the only witness they had to account for what happened in the Astronomy tower. He kept you out of Azkaban."

His hands dropped from her shoulders. He owed his freedom to _Saint Potter_. He was in his debt, and he hadn't even known it. Potter had _pitied _him, he realized with disgust.

He didn't want his fucking pity.

"_DAMMIT, _Granger! Why didn't you ever tell me this!"

She was crying freely again now, and he felt a twinge of regret somewhere in the pit of his stomach, but it was almost completely masked by the horror he was feeling now. The person he hated most in the world…had him in his debt. FUCK.

"I… I knew you would be ashamed. I didn't want to… want to upset you... and we never exactly talked before now…" she sputtered.

He was embarrassing himself now. She knew he was ashamed. She knew that he was embarrassed. She could tell how much this horrified him, and he hated it. _You have five seconds to get yourself under control, _he told himself. _One… two… three… _

She was still watching him, tears streaming down her face. Why was she crying? Did she actually feel bad for making _him _feel bad?

Astonishingly, at the count of five, he took a deep breath, and felt the calm returning. Not much, but enough to compose himself in front of Granger. He would mull this little fact over later, probably over a couple whiskeys, and he would hate himself afterwards, but for the time being, they had work they needed to get done. She stared at him, shocked by the sudden change in his demeanor.

"Okay," he said, slowly, taking another deep breath. "Okay, Granger, that's fine. Let's get back to work. Did you finish looking through those books yet?"


	8. Chapter 7: No One Knows

"I think we should take a break," said Hermione, peering up at Malfoy from over the top of her book. She was sitting back comfortably in a squashy bean bag chair that the room had provided for her. Malfoy had thought it was the most ridiculous thing he had ever seen, refused to test it out, and instead was sitting in one of the original rigid-backed chair. Books lay scattered on the table and floor surrounding them both. She wanted to continue, tearing through every page until they found the answer, but they had been there for hours and hours already. "It's lunch time, and I think I'll be able to stomach a bit of food."

Malfoy immediately set down the thick volume he had been reading and leaned back in his chair, his back cracking three times. Hermione cringed at the noise.

"I agree. It's definitely time for a break," he said lazily. They had made little progress. The Room of Requirement did not give them irrelevant information: Every book in the room had some sort of mention of _Hostes Mortale_ or _Somnium Mortalium Hostibus, _but none of them had much more than a vague mentioning of the latter, which is was they were most eagerly searching for. The best they had found so far had been a few short blurbs in some books about Mortal Enemies, but all they did was mention again how the Dreams are deadly unless they are put to a stop. It was most unhelpful.

This was beginning to make Hermione nervous. All of the books seemed to mention that death could occur, but none of them bothered to mention a timeline or, more importantly, how to stop the dreams.

A break was necessary. She needed to take some time to clear her mind. It had been whining and nagging and gnawing at her for the past couple hours, dulling the rest of her senses, making it hard to focus, and she kept irritatingly ignoring the feelings of misgiving, pushing them away, purposefully not acknowledging the thoughts that were threatening to spill into her conscious every second. She knew this would cause another mental breakdown, and she was desperate to stop making a fool out of herself in front of other people.

Malfoy flicked his wand, moving the books into neat stacks against the wall, keeping them separate from the ones in the shelf that they hadn't quite gotten to yet. "Let's meet after dinner," he said. It was more of a demand than it was a statement, but Hermione didn't argue. The afternoon free would give her time to find Harry and Ron, apologize, try to offer an explanation… she needed to clear the air with them. And hopefully she would have some time to work on a bit of homework before dinner, too.

Malfoy still looked thoughtfully around the room as he pocketed his wand. His blond hair was sticking up in odd places, as he had kept running his fingers through it out of frustration. His pale skin still pinched unhealthily over his pointed face, but Hermione thought that he was starting to look a little better. Being proactive about their predicament made things easier. "We should try to be more specific with the room when we come back. It could make all the difference, and I want to have this found by tonight…"

Hermione knew he dreaded the nights just as much as she did now. Any reasonable person would hate what they did, alternating between waking panicked and shaking, and lying awake in bed, begging for sleep, but unable to keep your eyes closed. Nightmarish visions floating by you every few minutes, so that your heart never stopped beating quickly from acute fear.

"Yes," she agreed. "We need to get this done." As they exited the Room of Requirement, the doorway sank back into the wall soundlessly behind them. They walked silently, side-by-side, and Hermione guessed that Malfoy's mind was probably working just as quickly as hers was to process the information they had found. And aside from that, with a stab of guilt she remembered, he had just learned that the person he hated the most was the only reason he hadn't been chucked in Azkaban.

They came to the end of the hallway, and Malfoy turned left to go to the dungeons, and Hermione turned right to go to the tower.

"Bye, then!" she said with a slight smile, giving him a small wave, and then inwardly recoiled in horror at what she had just done. Malfoy said nothing, but raised and inquiring eyebrow in a condescending manner, before turning his back to her and continuing on his way.

Hermione's cheeks flushed, and she turned on heel to walk quickly towards the North tower. How embarrassing. A single lapse in thought and she was waving to Draco Malfoy like an idiot, like they were friends. Their arrangement was for nothing more than necessity's sake. _But it was starting to feel like a little more than that_, she thought, as her feet automatically took her in the direction she needed to go. They weren't really friends, but they were becoming more friendly with eachother. At least they weren't arguing about every little thing, and they could have entire conversations without arguing at all. Sometimes, at least.

And there was the fact that he had stepped in between her and Ron and Harry. That was pretty significant, wasn't it? He didn't want to watch them disrespect her so much. _Or maybe their shouting was bothering him, _Hermione thought amused. It could be so hard to tell.

Before she was ready for it, she found herself in front of the Fat Lady. This was it. She would have to tell Harry and Ron a little more of the truth, now. Would they stick by her? Would they believe her? Would they even listen to her? Harry would eventually, she knew. He had been giving her inquiring looks for some time now. He was angry, but he could be reasoned with. Ron might take some more time.

She sighed and walked though, ignoring her pounding heart and the butterflies in her stomach and her suddenly sweaty palms. One glance around the common room told her that tall, red-headed Ron and bespectacled Harry were not down there, and so she began to climb the stairs to their dormitory, heart pounding, afraid of being yelled at again, but determined to explain herself as best she could, and mend their strained friendship.

The room was empty. Fine, then. Back downstairs.

She would go enjoy a bit of lunch and wait for them to come to her. A twinge of anger plucked at her insides, and she firmly reminded herself that she had no reason to be angry with them, and they had every reason to be angry with her.

But Ginny was coming through the portrait now. "Ginny!" Hermione greeted her happily. "I was just about to go get some lunch. Would you like to join me?"

"Oh, alright then," answered Ginny. "I just need to drop off my bag. I've spent all morning in the library." She wrinkled her nose in apparent disgust and ran upstairs to drop her books off. She reappeared immediately. She must be hungry.

"Have you seen Ron or Harry?" Hermione asked innocently as they made their way to the Great Hall.

Ginny looked guilty. "Well, yes. Ron was very angry this morning. He was shouting something about you. I could tell Harry was mad, too, but I think he was madder at Ron for causing a scene." She looked thoughtful. "As if Harry has never caused a scene himself," she added with a grin.

Yes, that sounded about right. "Oh. Do you know where they went? I want to find them and apologize for… Well, I need to apologize." Hermione wasn't quite sure how to explain what she needed to apologize for. For lying? For not being much of a help the past month? For being thrown into a situation that she didn't understand in the least bit?

Ginny shook her head slowly, long red hair waving back and forth. "No… Ron stomped out of the common room, muttering to himself, and Harry ran after him. Maybe they went to Hagrid's or something."

They had reached the Great Hall now, and took their seats at a farther end of the table, away from the hustle and bustle of the main group. Hermione started piling food on her plate, dousing her potatoes in gravy, piling bits of chicken. Ginny watched with slightly raised eyebrows as she spooned half of what Hermione had onto her own plate. "I think I might give it another day to see if they'll come to me," said Hermione, thoughtfully. "They were really mad, and it's impossible to have a serious conversation with Ron when he's all worked up."

"That would probably be the best idea," said Ginny, quickly reaffirming these thoughts, and the girls laughed a bit together, having both been on the receiving end of Ron's fury many times. At that, they broke into their usual chats, discussing everything they could think of. Well, almost everything. Hermione dug into her plate, her stomach rumbling, and though she didn't come close to finishing everything, she was happy to have some warm food in her belly by the end of it.

She sat back and relaxed as Ginny sat down her fork, having finished as well. "So," Ginny began, "what _did _you do that made the boys so angry with you? Ron wasn't very coherent, but I did hear something about Malfoy." She said the name with disgust.

Hermione grinned at her bluntness. Ginny was easy to talk to. She wasn't accusatory. She wasn't angry. She was just a laid back, curious individual. "It's a long story," she said simply. A long, unbelievable, certifiably insane story.

Ginny looked around pointedly. There were a few seats between them and the nearest students, who were being a bit rowdy, ensuring an undisturbed conversation. "I think we have time."

She couldn't argue with that. Could she bring herself to share a bit of her burden with Ginny? Ginny was so much calmer than her hot-headed brother, though she would still hex the hell out of anyone who crossed her, but she was not one to jump to conclusions. It would be so nice to have someone with an outsider's perspective to talk about this with… Ginny was her best friend, too. She fit the criteria.

"I'm not sure how to begin," she admitted.

"Let's start with today," suggested Ginny in a business-like tone. "What set them off today?"

"They found me in the Room of Requirement with Draco Malfoy. We were… studying," explained Hermione lamely. It wasn't a lie. They _were _studying. It just had nothing to do with school, but everything to do with their lives.

Ginny raised her eyebrows, her forehead wrinkling a bit, her mouth in a straight, thin line. Hermione knew why. The girl absolutely _hated _the Malfoys. She still had nightmares about her first year at Hogwarts when Lucius Malfoy effectively had her possessed by Voldemort. The memory was clear on Ginny's face, but she didn't mention this.

"What were you studying?" she asked. Hermione was impressed. She had known right away that Hermione was evading details.

Hermione wondered how to go about answering this. Should she tell the truth? Ginny was very perceptive, unlike Ron, and would likely recognize her thinly veiled lies anyway. She could just tell Ginny that she wasn't comfortable talking about everything, but she knew, if there was one person she _could _talk to about this, it was Ginny. Fiercely loyal, she would defend Hermione to the end.

"We were studying… dreams," she finally admitted, and her face immediately flushed. She looked down at her still substantially full plate and pushed around the food with her fork. "We've both been having… bad nights…" Her confidence was wavering with every word she spoke. Ginny was going to think she was a lunatic. She looked up, and Ginny's brown eyes bore right back into Hermione's own. They weren't harsh in anyway, just calculating. Comprehending. Trying to listen to Hermione with an open mind.

"How does this tie you and Malfoy together?"

Hermione could see the thoughts clicking by in Ginny's head. This was it. She either needed to back out now, or spill some details to Ginny.

Time went by. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, 'Mione. But if you would like to talk about it, I'll listen the best I can." Ginny had been worried about her too, she knew. Everyone wanted to get to the bottom of what was wrong with Hermione, herself included.

"We've been having dreams about eachother," Hermione started slowly, suddenly feeling a bit empowered. "Well, it's the same one every time."

She didn't want to get into the details of the dream. She didn't want to have to relive the fear, or let Ginny know how much the images bothered her, but she told her most of the story, starting with the insomnia, the Dreamless Sleep Draught, running into Malfoy all over the place, noticing his own sleep problems, and having a suddenly realization that _he _was a villain in her dreams. She talked about how Malfoy had asked her for help (Ginny snorted at this, though was otherwise quiet and attentive), and how they had been searching for the answer ever since. She stopped here, wondering if she wanted to go on and tell Ginny what they had found out only hours ago.

No, she would keep that information to herself until she understood what it meant. Ginny tilted her head and looked up thoughtfully, finger on her chin, tapping gently.

"Do you think I'm crazy?" Hermione asked after a minute when Ginny said nothing.

"No, I don't. If you were crazy, it wouldn't make sense for Malfoy to be experiencing the exact same thing as you." She looked back at Hermione. "You haven't told Harry or Ron anything, have you?"

Hermione shook her head, guilt clenching at her stomach. "No… They know that I've not been sleeping, but they have no idea Malfoy is involved at all."

"Yes, I can see how it might have been a shock for them to find you two being all jolly together," she said seriously.

She laughed. "We aren't 'all jolly together'. We are civil, but it's only out of necessity. We are both losing control of ourselves. We had to do something."

"You'll figure everything out. I know you will. But you need to tell the boys what's going on," Ginny advised. "Maybe not today, seeing as how they were inconsolable and fuming, but as soon as they'll listen to you. They think you don't trust them."

Hermione sighed heavily. "I know..."

* * *

><p>Draco Malfoy lay back in his bed, but sat up immediately. It had been a very long morning, but he didn't want to lay down. So he propped his pillows up against the headboard and leaned back onto them. It still wasn't quite right. They weren't enough. So he nicked Blaise's and Theo's too, having no idea where they were or when they would be back, and now he leaned back into the soft mess of pillows, sinking in, but still in a relatively upright position. Perfect.<p>

He reached a long-fingered had over the edge of the bed, groping blindly until it closed on what felt right what he was looking for. It was the purple book. Perfect.

Laying back lazily, flipping though the book after skimming every page, sipping on his flask. Draco was doing his god-damned best to distract himself from his thoughts. Inevitably, though, his mind began to wander. Books were just so _boring. _

So he was capable of killing, huh? He had been vehemently refusing to believe he could kill someone for the past half a year. "_Wasn't everyone in the world capable of killing?_" His thoughts challenged the words of the book, finding fault in them. Every person had the right tools to commit a murder. All they really need is their hands. Maybe the book was referring more to a mental capability. A hardened sense of self that would persevere through something as gut-wrenching as taking another human's life.

That had to be it.

Sure, Draco had a bit of a different upbringing. He had been spoiled to his core. Mother and Father loved him very much, and that was how they showed it. He had never been coddled, and had learned to take care of himself from an early age. He had been taught to protect his mind fiercely from others, and he was capable of distancing himself from situations.

"_Do what you need to do and get it done with," _his father had told him. _"Dwelling on it won't help."_

Did that make him more capable of killing than other people?

It was stupid. Just because he was _capable _of killing didn't mean that he actually _would. _What a stupid definition of _Hostes Mortale. _Non-specific sentences, filled with loopholes, and applying to every set of people in the world.

_But the Somnium Mortalium Hostibus only occurs with Mortal Enemies…_

Draco gave in. He could tear the definition apart all he wanted, but the Dreams proved that him and Granger were Mortal Enemies. He closed the plushy purple book and dropped it carelessly back over the side of the bed. It made a muffled _fwump _as it landed on the floor, and Draco took a long pull off his flask, slowly, thoughtfully screwing the cap back on. It was time for lunch. His stomach rumbled a little, and he slowly got to his feet, knowing that if his stomach would allow it, he shouldn't pass up a meal.

His feet took him to where he needed to go, and he bitterly hoped that Scarhead wasn't in there. Fucking Scarhead… Draco was furious with him. He would rather have gone to Azkaban than have Harry Potter's pity. But a small voice in the back of his head spoke up: _Now, that isn't exactly true…_ Draco couldn't leave Mother alone in the Manor with her husband and son in Azkaban. He wouldn't have been able to finish his last year at Hogwarts. The Ministry would probably not have bothered to protect Mother if he had been convicted. The Dark Lord would have killed her when Draco failed.

Potter was insufferable, no doubt about it. He had surely testified due to pity and his constant need for attention and to be _noble. _Afterwards, he had probably told everyone he knew about Draco's moments of weakness. They had all probably fawned over him, and thought he was _so good _for helping poor misguided Draco, despite their differences. He hated him with every fiber of his being. Potter probably hadn't understood the full effect of his decision to testify, but Draco had been released because of him, and it was because of the bargaining that Mother was alive.

Draco hated Potter, but maybe, even though he was a fucking idiot, maybe sometimes he got things right, even if it was by luck.

Blaise and Theo were sitting in the middle of the Slytherin table. Pansy sat across from them chatting animatedly about something. Though she occasionally gifted them with a good story, mostly Pansy prattled on needlessly, most un-Slytherin like, and judging by the impassive look on Blaise's face as he blatantly ignored her, it was one of those times.

But Draco swaggered on anyway and took a seat next to the witch. She immediately wrinkled her pug-like nose when he sat down. She stopped her story. "Have you been drinking?" she asked, nose still wrinkled.

Draco shrugged noncommitingly. "A bit." And he dug into the food in front of him.

"Well, you certainly smell like it," continued Pansy. "I'd be more careful if I were you. If McGonagall notices, it wouldn't sit well with your probation."

Draco ignored her. Blaise looked up and eyed him warily. He _had _been drinking a lot lately. Anyone would be, he reasoned. His life had become a sleepless hell. He was constantly plagued by aching joints and sunken eyes. He needed a drink every now and then to keep his wits about him.

Pansy prattled on with her story, Blaise looked back down at his food, and Theo, elbow on the table, propping up his head with his fist, stared into the rest of the Great Hall, eyes glazed over and unfocused.

Draco looked across the hall too, and spotted Granger talking with the female Weasel. Though they were smiling with one another, they remained somewhat serious looking. Had Granger tracked down Potty and Weasel yet? Was she going to tell them everything? Would they listen if she tried? Probably not. Those two of The Idiot Trio seemed to have extremely thick skulls, impossible to penetrate. Granger was the glue that held them together. She was quick with her answers, but seemed to work at a slugs pace.

Granger was a weird one. An ugly frizz-ball that would lie to her friends in the most Slytherin-like way, then stand up to them and defend herself like the rest of those idiot Gryffindors. One moment she was crackling with indifference, the next she was upset over something trivial, like upsetting _him. _She cared about his feelings, he realized, even though they had hated eachother since the moment they met. Even though they were true magically mortal enemies….

Maybe Granger, annoying as she was with her thick hair and unkempt appearance, maybe she was tolerable. For a mudblood.

"It's good to see you eating, Draco," said Blaise softly, interrupting his thoughts, and Pansy's prattling too, judging by the affronted look on her face.

Draco nodded, then shrugged. "I eat when I can."

A strange, light, tingling sensation traveled down his neck, crept down his back, giving him goose bumps, and he looked up to see two big brown eyes locked on his grey ones. He broke the gaze and looked back at his plate, and out of the corner of his eye, saw Granger awkwardly do the same. Stupid girl. Bothering him at lunchtime.

Blaise gave him an odd look, having obviously noticed the strange exchange, but didn't say anything, and Draco was grateful.

* * *

><p>Harry and Ron had avoided her all day. They had spent most of the afternoon at Hagrid's and they sat with Neville, Seamus, and Dean at dinner. Hermione hadn't really minded. She kept reminding herself that they had every reason to be angry with her, so she had sat with Ginny, Parvati, and Lavender, and chatted lightly through the evening.<p>

Now Hermione found herself, once again, in the Room of Requirement with Malfoy. He had arrived early, and presumably did some deep thinking while waiting for the door to appear. The room looked very much the same, a table, a couple chairs, and (Hermione was surprised to see) the bean bag chair she had asked it for last time. The difference now was that the bookcase was now a couple shelves higher. Malfoy was kicking the bookcase in frustration.

"I told it to leave us books specific to _Somnium Mortalium Hostibus. _This room is fucking mocking me," he growled angrily.

"Oh, no it's not," chided Hermione. "You must have just phrased it weird or something." She set down her bag on the table, bringing her notes out, dreading the long hours that lay ahead, but itching for the answer to their problems.

"Do you want to bet?" asked Malfoy, shoving a book insistently under her nose. "You don't think I know this room that well? It's familiar with me. It's fucking with me right now. All the new books are like this!"

Hermione curiously took a look at the title:  
><em>The Importance of Manners<em>

She laughed out loud, hard, uncontrollably, a feeling that had become so unfamiliar to her, breath raking her lungs, sides aching, eyes pricked with tears of mirth, and Malfoy continued scowling at her, though she thought she might have seen a shadow of a smiled pass over him.

After a minute or so, she had managed to get herself under control, forcing the smile off her face, struggling for the muscles to relax. It was useless.

"You should have said 'please'," she said, smiling widely.

Malfoy rolled his eyes, though he looked amused, and gathered a couple books for them to begin with.

"Let's get this shit over with," he muttered, and she silently agreed.


	9. Chapter 8: Blame It

They hadn't been working for very long at all. Perhaps a half hour. But Draco's eyes had slid out of focus, and his heavy eyelids drooped a little, and his grip on the quill in front of him relaxed. Desperate as he was for an answer, Draco was tired of this odd reading routine he had gotten into with Granger. Certainly, Granger had ended up being much more tolerable than he had originally thought, but she was still a little freak. With immense effort, he focused his tired eyes a bit to assess her. She had pulled her thick brown hair back, but wayward strands had already worked themselves free into her face. She ignored them, and continued to peruse the thick book in front of her, nose just a couple inches from the words, pink tongue sticking out from her lips, squinting those brown eyes he knew so well. Her quill was poised and ready, despite the fact that the Room of Requirement was failing them.

Yep, she was still a little freak.

Annoyance stung through Draco's bones for a minute. _The room was failing them. _He wasn't used to entertaining this idea. He had spent countless hours among the Hidden Things, experiencing every emotion known to man, hands shaking, desperately working day and night to save his own and his parents' lives, mental breakdowns left and right. The room had supported him then, while he was plotting the unthinkable. Why couldn't it have a little fucking sympathy when again he so desperately needed it?

Now he was angry again. He dropped his quill as if it had shocked him and shoved his fist into his inner pocket, emerging with his flask, his best friend.

"You've been drinking an awful lot lately," said Granger softly, and he looked back at her, indifferent sneer already in place, fully ignoring the feeling of being zapped and the look of concern that graced her eyes. She blinked, but otherwise gave no other indication that she felt the buzz either.

He took a long pull, closing his eyes, tilting his head back, feeling the liquid burn its course down his throat, warming his stomach. "I've had a lot on my mind," he said a bit defensively. Granger was so irritating. It wasn't enough that they had been thrown together in an unexplainable situation that neither of them understood, but now she was going to get all _noble _and _Gryffindor _and _annoying._

Her eyes searched his face for a minute, reflecting the burning fire behind him. "I'm not going to stop you. Just remember that we're not as healthy as we used to be."

"I _know_ that, Granger. _Nothing_ is how it used to be," he seethed. Did she think that he couldn't feel his own body protesting with every move he made? Did she think that he couldn't feel his own mind beginning to shut down? Did she think that he didn't realize that their very lives depended on the time they spent in this fucking room?

He hated it. He hated the Room of Requirement for what it allowed him to do a year ago. He hated it for making things so hard now, providing a hundred books when they could have done fine with one. He hated every little bit of it in that moment.

"I was only reminding you," said Granger softly, in her best concerned Gryffindor way, looking back down at the book spread in front of her. Draco was infuriated at this point. It was irrational to be so angry so quickly, he knew, but his body was taking such a toll that he couldn't stop his own blood from beginning to boil beneath the surface of his waxy skin.

Hands tense. Eyes narrowed. Burning anger rising in his throat. He must keep control of himself. They had to get through these books. They had to find the answer. If they were lucky, extremely lucky, they would be done by the time he dragged himself back to his dorm. He swallowed hard, and a bit of the anger went with it, but he could still feel the heat in his face.

_Hold your tongue! _he told himself, repeating the phrase that Father was so fond of. Tensely, he stretched his fingers. Granger was looking hard at her book, but Draco could tell she had also tensed. She could sense his anger. She knew that he was close to losing control.

He really had no reason to be as angry as he felt. He knew it. But his body and mind had other plans. He forced a few hard, deep breaths through his nose. He closed his eyes. He felt the anger beginning to siphon away. It was working.

"I'm sorry if I upset you." The words broke his concentration. They had come in almost a whisper, and he had not been expecting them. Granger was apologizing to Draco even though it was his fault that he almost lost control?

"It's… fine," he said through gritted teeth. Now her ignorance was annoying him. "My temper is close to the surface these days." His mind was deteriorating. He could feel it.

She looked back up at him, and her eyes shone a little more than normal, though she was not crying. "I just want to be done with this! I want to find the answer and _go to sleep. _I'm not even upset with you! But my eyes are still burning, and I can still feel it in my throat, and I know you aren't even that angry, but you can't control the reaction. It's like our brains are trying to overcompensate with feelings to make up for the sleep that we can't have!" she finished passionately, slamming down her own quill.

Draco was taken aback by this little rant. It was unnecessary. She hadn't stated anything that he wasn't already fully aware of. Her words were _worthless _and it _bothered _him. "Granger, relax," he snapped, suddenly feeling as though he was the voice of reason. He cycled through his moods so quickly now, he hardly knew what was going to come out of his own mouth. He felt her frustration, too. Emotions ripped him apart. They appeared randomly and seemed to have little to do with the situations he might be in.

She rolled her eyes, infuriatingly. What, so she was allowed to tell him that she was _worried _about him, and that he ought to be looking out for his health, but he couldn't tell her to _fucking relax?_

"Fine," he said sharply. _"Fine." _And irrationality won out. He slammed his book shut and shoved it off the table. He needed to make a mess. He needed to make noise. Parchment scattered. An ink bottle knocked over and immediately began spreading across the table. _"Fuck you, _Granger." He was standing now. "I am _sick and tired _of your psychotic babbling. You think you're _better_ than me, but you're making the same fucking mistakes I am!" and he leaned over the table to look directly into her face. She looked suddenly petrified. All air of superiority was gone from her features. _Good! _

He turned, energy crackling around him, and took his long strides towards the door, robes blowing back behind him, having every intention of _fucking up _the first person or thing he came across.

"_STOP it, _Malfoy!" He whipped back around, only feet from the door, fury coursing through him. This ignorant girl _would not keep her fucking mouth shut. _She was closer than he thought. Apparently she had jumped up to follow him. He breathed hard through his mouth, eyes narrowed in disbelief. Would she never just _leave it be?_

"Stop it!" she repeated angrily, eyes flashing, drawing herself up to her full height. "You can't just storm away again and again! I've told you that I'm _not _going to be putting up with _your shit _anymore! Now we have work to do! Our lives depend on us getting this done, and we have no idea how long it will take. So just sit back down, and we'll get on with it!"

Disgust was written all over his face, mingling with fury, disbelief, and hatred. "How _dare _you talk to me like that," he began, supremely affronted. She was under the impression that she could bully him. She thought she could just yell right back in his face and not expect retribution. She was a disgrace. She was–

_SLAP!_

The stinging sensation spread from the point her hand had made contact on his cheek, burning him, and he closed the distance between them immediately, hands clenching tight on her shoulders, and he pulled her to look him directly in the eyes. She was shaking a little, out of anger or fright he didn't know. She looked slightly ashamed, as though she severely regretted the impulse that had caused her to slap him, but she kept her brown eyes narrowed defiantly and locked on his own.

"I'm not a fucking coward, Granger," he said slowly, deadly, straining to keep his voice even, using every ounce of self control he had left not to throw her across the room. His grip tightened and a sharp intake of breath from her told him that he was hurting her. He didn't let go. His eyes never left hers. "It worked once before, but I will never let you lay a hand on my again. Let's not forget that at least one of us here is capable of cold-blooded murder."

At these words the color drained from her face. She broke eye contact with him. The intensity had been so great between them. Roughly he let her go, and he once again began towards the door.

"It's me," she whispered, and Draco wasn't even sure if he had heard her at first. Eyes still flashing, he couldn't believe she wouldn't let this conversation drop. He rounded back to her, preparing his words that would make her blood run cold. It looked as though she had simply slumped to the ground the second he had let go of her. Tears were streaming down her face, drip dropping on the hard floor under her, and her hair had come loose and hung in her face. He had never seen anything so pathetic in his life.

Comprehension dawned slowly on him, and the words seemed to register little by little.

"_What did you say?" _he snapped suddenly.

She still didn't look up at him, and her voice was strained and uneven, heavy with guilt and fear and a definite note of hysteria. _"It's me. _I'm the one with the capability to kill."

His heart seemed to stop. His lungs stopped functioning. The blood that had rushed to easily to his face when he was angry now drained drop by drop, and he knew that he had never gone whiter than he was at that moment. What was she going on about? An odd pressure clenched in his chest. "What the fuck are you talking about, Granger?" he asked quietly, angrily, sure that she was just fucking with him, but still he took a couple steps towards her. He needed to hear more.

He was close to her. She was sniffling, though she was not sobbing, and he could see the wet ground below her face was still being continually splattered by her free-falling tears. It was then that she looked up at him, her eyes gleaming and blurry. She was terrified, not of him, but of something he couldn't recognize. He was entranced by such grief and regret that he had never seen so clearly before. He knelt down, as if in a daze, looking deep into the wide brown eyes.

* * *

><p>She looked up at him, meeting his eyes, terrified, horrified at what she had just done. She had just told Draco Malfoy her darkest secret. The miserable memories flooded her mind, but she was used to them. She had spent countless hours tormenting herself, right up until the point where she began rationalizing her actions. She didn't feel any more regret about her secret. She only regretted that it had slipped from her mouth while she was slumped on the dusty floor, covered in her own tears, mopping tears off her face with her sleeves. How embarrassing.<p>

There was a familiarity about the tears and dirty robe sleeves and Malfoy's eyes so close to her own. Fear clenched hard at her heart when she realized it. She was helpless and desperate, crying uncontrollably, and looking into the eyes of Draco Malfoy, who was crouched in front of her. At least in this situation he didn't look as though he wanted to kill her. Instead, pure disbelief looked at her through his grey eyes, along with a bit of anger that hadn't quite ebbed away. He hadn't said anything. Was he in shock?

Her shoulders had a dull ache where he had roughly grabbed her only moments before, but she determinedly ignored it. Was he going to ignore her confession? Was he going to walk out again? Oh Merlin, was he going to tell people? No one… not even Harry or Ron knew…

He sat down on the floor in front of her, as though hypnotized. Great. Now she was some sort of freak show he was just going to stare at. Her tears fell harder, though they did nothing to quell her horror at what she had just admitted.

Finally, he spoke quietly, the venom had left his voice at this point. "What the fuck are you talking about?" he repeated quietly, inquiringly. And Hermione took a deep, quavering breath. He couldn't know the full truth about their mission to find the Horcruxes, but she had to tell him _something _now. Admitting to have killed someone is not a conversation that goes away easily.

"I don't even know who it was," she started, tears still leaking, and then she started sobbing in earnest. Why couldn't she have just kept her mouth shut? Why didn't she just left Malfoy storm out like he had before? "He was a D-death Eater. I had t-to do it! He was raising his wand. He already h-had half the spell out. It was kill or be k-killed. I had no… no choice…."She left out the details. How no one would ever know that she had done it, thanks to the Polyjuice Potion. How the Death Eater had been personal protection for Umbridge since she pardoned him and many others who had been convicted. How Hermione had been holding the Locket at the time, having acquired it from Umbridge only seconds earlier. How Harry was dueling with Pius Thicknesse while Ron was desperately trying to pull her out of the man's grasp, for he had lunged and managed to get a hold of her ankle. Officials and Death Eaters alike had been closing in on them. Ron had turned for a split second to fire a spell at Thicknesse, and Hermione had been so desperate to get away, filled with the raw need to save her life and the life of her friends. They had to kill Voldemort. A burning sensation pulsed through her fingers, and she hadn't even realized what she had said until the man had hit the floor, eyes wide and unseeing. Before Ron could turn back to see what she had done, she managed to lunge forward and grab a hold of his and Harry's arms before she twisted on spot and they escaped.

She didn't tell him the worst part: that she would do it again in a heartbeat if it meant saving her friends and destroying Voldemort.

Her tears began to slow, and her sniffling stopped. She searched Malfoy's face, looking for some sort of indication as to how he took this bit of information. Would he be disgusted? Would he stop talking to her? Would he tell other people what she had done? Her heart thudded loudly. His face was impassive. His eyes shone with some emotion she couldn't quite place, but something was a bit off about it… she squirmed.

"Please say something," she said, breaking her eyes away from his once again.

He steadily held out one of his long-fingered hands. She stared at it. What the hell was he doing? He rolled his eyes and looked at her disdainfully. "You're a mess, Granger. Come on. Get off the floor."

Indignation rolled through her body, but she quickly dismissed it. She was in no position reject his acceptance now. So she grabbed his hand, cool as ice, the familiar shock zapping her gently, and allowed him to pull her to her feet. Once she was steady, he quickly withdrew his hand once more, ensuring only brief contact. He began walking back to the little table, and she somewhat reluctantly followed, hoping he wouldn't insist on asking her specific questions. If she avoided answering, he would surely become furious with her again, and it would only lead to a repeat of her lying crumpled on the ground again.

Instead he had conjured a clean piece of fabric for her to wipe her face on, a couple glasses, and he was now filling them with a bit of Fire Whiskey. She stared at him. He stared back evenly. "Well, come on then! Take a seat. Let's have a bit of a break and relax. You clearly need it…"

She shot him a quick glare, but understood that she certainly did look like a mess, dusty from the floor, ends of her hair soaked in tears, puffy eyes, flushed face… the list would go on and on, and so she sat down and took a minute to clean herself up.

* * *

><p>Draco took a sip of whiskey while the mess of a mudblood worked to make herself less embarrassing. He turned his chair to watch the fire, which was crackling merrily.<p>

She had lied. Not outright, but she had purposefully left out details. It had taken every bit of his self control to keep his face impassive as he had looked into her mind, and he was thoroughly startled. The scene made no sense to him.

He sat staring into the fire, alternating between confusion as to what exactly had happened and immense relief that he was not the killer after all. And he was absolutely mystified, because he saw no remorse in Hermione Granger for her actions. She had been sobbing and blubbering all over herself, but she did not regret her actions. What the fuck was wrong with this girl?

A chair scooted behind him, and then she was sitting next to him, also looking at the fire.

"Are you… are you going to tell people?" she asked tentatively.

Maybe that's why she was crying. Because her reputation would be ruined if it got out. "No. You have too much shit on me," he said, not looking at her, mind reeling, still completely perplexed. He heard her exhale a sigh of relief. This muggle-born was utterly devious. Whether she realized what she was doing or not, she had been trying to manipulate him into thinking that she was _torn up _about her crime. But she wasn't. Slowly, he reached out his senses again. There was a tiny amount of remorse there. Okay, so she wasn't _completely_ heartless. There was also a strong sense of necessity. An unwavering will to survive. She wouldn't have made a bad Slytherin with all that sense of self-preservation. If only she wasn't such an annoying know-it-all.

"Do you regret it?" he asked simply, still looking at the fire, pretending to be mulling all this over while he continued to discreetly prod at her thoughts, gently, not going too deep, not alerting her to what he was doing.

"No," she said shortly. Draco couldn't stop himself from turning to openly stare at her now. _That _had not been what he was expecting. He had expected her to continue lying, continue the charade, continue trying to make a fool out of him. "I did at first, but I did what I had to, and I would do it again."

She really was fucking insane, wasn't she?

She continued, "You do understand, don't you? It would rip me apart if I spent every day regretting it."

"Merlin, Hermione, I think it's only natural to go through a bit of the grieving process."

She allowed a short smile to pass her lips, and they sat in silence for a little longer, sipping their drinks. Idly, Draco summoned the book he had earlier thrown, and flipped through the pages, not reading, just wanting something to do with his hands while he took it all in.

_He wasn't a murderer… _The idea sank into him, one word at a time, and he felt his body relax in a way that he hadn't known in weeks. He dreamt of it, Dream-Draco loved the idea of a bloody Granger, but for the time being, his slate was clean. Granger's, though…. Merlin. What the fuck did her, Potty, and Weasel get themselves into? All of them had been in disguises… something about a locket… The idiots really put themselves through a lot of grief, didn't they?

His thoughts stopped abruptly, and he stared at the page he had been about to flip through.

"_Granger!" _he said sharply, sitting up to focus better, and she jumped, spilling her drink down the front of her robes.

"What?" she demanded, startled, and she began siphoning the spill off with her wand.

"Granger, I found something!" and he brandished the book at her. She excitedly took the book from him and peered at the page. There was writing in the corner, small, messy, barely legible. The same handwriting that had been in the plush purple book. In this book it was written hard, angrily into the page. Five words, followed by a set of angry scribbles that looked as though the quill had broken mid-slash:  
><em>ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?<em>

Granger read the passage next to the writing out loud. Draco held his breath:  
><em>"No one is sure how <em>Somnium Mortalium Hostibus _comes to affect a set of persons. There are many theories as to what could trigger it. It is known, though, that once The Dreams begin, there is no stopping them until the end has come. There are two courses of action that The Affected must choose from: Find the answer, or ignore the dreams. Ignoring the dreams will result in death for both of The Affected within 3-6 months. If The Affected choose to swallow their pride and attempt to save their own lives, they must—"_

She stopped and looked up at him, mouth slightly open, drawing in a deep breath. "The next page has been torn out," she said, defeated.

"…Are you fucking kidding me?" asked Draco, mimicking the writing in the book, willing her to continue, his tired brain wanting nothing more than to hear the rest of that sentence. She shook her head.

_Okay… that's fine… _He stood up calmly, taking deep even breaths, until he reached the other side of the room. He leaned his head against the cool stone wall, eyes closed, breathing deep, even, trying hard to keep control of himself for what seemed like the millionth time in the past couple hours.

Granger let out a shout of surprise and was hurrying over to him now. He hadn't even realized he'd done it. He had only been trying to remove himself from the situation… but his right hand ached and throbbed, his knuckles ran blood, and he threw his head back and ran his other fingers through his hair in frustration. _Fuck! _Old habits die hard… it was just too bad that his old habit was something as inconvenient and painful as punching a stone wall. _FUCK! _He really felt like an idiot at that moment.

"What is _wrong _with you?" demanded Granger, and she pulled his sleeve up to assess the damage. "You broke your hand. Merlin, Malfoy. And you think _I'm _psychotic? Episkey!"

His knuckles were still bleeding slightly. Her spell hadn't been as strong as Blaise's were. Though Blaise had years of practice of dealing with Draco's out-of-control rage.

He said nothing to her. He rested his head against the cool wall again, temper still flaring, though not as badly. His hand ached and a few droplets of blood made their way to the floor. He wanted to scream. They were _so fucking close _to being done with this tonight. He felt a small hand on his shoulder, but he didn't turn to look at her.

"We're getting there, Draco. We'll have the answer soon."

He didn't respond.

* * *

><p>It was late. They hadn't left the Room of Requirement since after dinner. Hermione wondered what Harry and Ron had ended up doing. She wondered how angry they must be with her. She wondered if they were going to try to come back and drag her away, or if they were going to fume in silence in their Harry-and-Ron type way. She would have to talk to them tomorrow. There wasn't time for their sulking. They had things to get done.<p>

Malfoy's hand had finally stopped bleeding. After mopping up the mess, she noticed an array of scars littering his knuckles, all healing, though slowly. Apparently punching the wall was a typical Malfoy behavior. How idiotic. He hadn't mentioned anything more about her confession, and this made her extremely uncomfortable. What was he thinking? Why did she care what he was thinking?

After the excitement of their minor find, they had not read much more, but they had flipped through every single book in the shelf, holding them upside down, shaking them, desperately searching for the piece of paper that had been torn from the other book. No luck. Hermione's head buzzed. She yearned for sleep. She had to sleep. She felt herself nodding off…

Quickly she brought her head back up, opening her eyes wide, trying to stretch her eyelids into staying open.

"Don't hurt yourself," came Malfoy's tired, indifferent voice, having noticed the odd facial expression she had made to keep her eyes open. She flushed slightly. Malfoy closed the book that he had half-heartedly opened 30 seconds ago, and sighed heavily. "Is there any way we can identify the person that wrote in these margins?"

Hermione shook her weary head. It felt like her eyeballs were rattling around. "I don't think so. There's nothing that might identify them here. Their handwriting doesn't belong to any famous witch or wizard I recognize. It's obvious they were experiencing the same thing as us, though…" she trailed off, voice scratching at her throat. Her life had become such a hell in such a short period of time.

Malfoy drunk deeply from his flask. Merlin, did it ever empty? He must have put a spell on it… impressive magic.

"The dreams started in the beginning of December," began Hermione, desperately trying to keep the buzzing in her head from interfering with the thoughts she so desperately needed to communicate. "It's mid-January now. That's over one month down. We have as few as two months to figure this out, but maybe as many as five…"

That wasn't much time as all. "And there's no telling how long it will take us to properly execute the solution… it could be a potion that takes months to brew…" she trailed off, eyes itching, wanting desperately to cry, but sternly refusing. She had cried enough today.

Malfoy leaned back in his chair, balancing on the back two legs now, eyes half-closed, lids fluttering with the effort of staying open. "I'm done for the night," he said slowly. As always, it was a statement. Not leaving room for argument. He was going to bed, and there was nothing Hermione could do about it. But she was relieved to hear him say this. She was exhausted. If she could lie down… if she could sleep for just a _little _while…

She raised her heavy arm, unsteadily, hand shaking with the effort, and flicked her wand. Books stacked themselves against the wall, a little unevenly, clearly affected by her weakened strength.

"When do you want to get together next?" she asked, standing slowly, bones creaking, body aching, cleaning up the table, packing her bag. "I'll need some time tomorrow to speak with Harry and Ron—"

Malfoy snorted his distaste. A bit of his attitude had come back. "Yeah, good luck with that, Granger. Those two are so thick-headed. We'll see if you can get anything through to them."

She narrowed his eyes. "Yes, you'll see," she replied coolly. Dragging her feet towards the door, unable to fully lift them, she wondered if she would even make it to Gryffindor tower. Malfoy seemed to be moving just as sluggishly as she was, struggling with every step. She just needed to lay down… she just needed a little bit of sleep… _Please… _she begged herself, _please let me have a little time tonight… _

They reached the split in the hallway. "We'll discuss our next meeting time tomorrow," Malfoy said flatly, clearly incapable of putting much inflection into his words, and he turned to leave.

"Malfoy…" he stopped and turned back to her. Hermione hesitated, still unsure of his reactions, but knowing that she was getting a better feel for him as a person. He would probably scoff, but he would appreciate what she had to say: "Thanks for… for listening to me earlier."

He did not scoff. He did not raise his eyebrows. His face remained impassive, though lined with exhaustion, and he did the last thing she ever expected. He clapped a hand on her shoulder, a comforting touch, before he turned back and slumped down the hallways towards the dungeons.

She brain ached. She couldn't be bothered to stand there awkwardly, watching him, wondering whether he was drunk or sleepwalking, or if he had really just displayed a sense of affection for her. She kept trudging along, promising herself that she would allow herself all the time she needed to ponder Malfoy's oddly complex personality tomorrow. But for now, there was only one thing on her mind.

* * *

><p><em>His left hand roughly grabbed her arm, and his right hand, fingers flexed hard, shot to her neck, clenching tightly, not choking her yet. He was watching her excitedly. It plainly showed in his eyes. They were focused hard on hers. Her own hands flew up to his wrists, gripping tightly, nails digging into his flesh, desperate, terrified.<em>

_So this was it was going to happen?_

_His fingers tightened slightly, almost unnoticeable to the human eye, but she felt the force against her trachea as if it was 1000 pounds. Her eyes widened. Her heart beat quickly. Her already ragged breaths kept getting caught, wheezing, ripping through her. Still she pulled at his wrists. She clawed at them. She could feel that she had drawn blood. He didn't seem to notice. He was so much stronger than her. He could do so much more damage, and she couldn't stop him._

_Again his grip tightened, just a fraction of an inch. He was watching her so closely, taking in every second of her despair. Her eyes began to bulge. She wheezed and pulled hard with her lungs at the air with her lungs. She needed oxygen. She needed to draw a breath. She needed him to let go of her… but he held tight. He kept watching her. He was delighted…_


	10. Chapter 9: Unless You Do This With Me

_She clawed desperately at his wrists, nails digging deep, anything to get him to release his grip. Blood dripped down to his elbows, hot and dark, splattering the ground, but he relished in the pain. It was almost the moment. He had been waiting for so long. He tightened his grip… just a little… just enough to feel it. Her brown eyes bulged slightly in her head. She couldn't breathe. His heart thudded in anticipation…  
><em>

* * *

><p>Draco thrashed in his bed, screaming hoarsely, his hands flailing wildly, tangled in his blankets, and all logical thought left his mind. Panic seemed to rip through his rib cage as he managed to break his arms free from the cocoon that had encased him. He was acting purely on impulse. He couldn't hear clearly through his own yelling. He couldn't see clearly, for his eyes were still focused on the dying girl in front of him.<p>

"_What the fuck is going on –" _The lights suddenly flooded back into the room as Draco tumbled out of bed, his blankets still wrapped around his legs, trying to stand, trying to breath, trying to figure out what the fuck just happened. His head whipped wildly from side to side, eyes wide, trying to take in his surroundings. Blaise suddenly grabbed his wrists, preventing him from moving much, no doubt assessing the situation as dangerous. Draco had no idea that he was still screaming. He didn't know that he was shaking. He couldn't comprehend. Panic continued to bubble up in his throat, and he grasped enough sense to use his held-tight wrists to push Blaise back a step so he could vomit cleanly on the floor between them. His screaming stopped at last, but his chest heaved and heaved, heavily panting, keeping pace with his racing heart.

"_What did you do to yourself?" _demanded Theo, and the question pulled Draco back down to Earth with a _crash. _He was in his dorm. His friends were staring at him. His throat hurt from screaming. His wrists were burning. Theo was standing farther away than Blaise, back flat against the wall, staring narrow-eyed at Draco's hands, which were shaking violently despite Blaise's grip on them. Draco didn't know what he meant by that, but he followed Theo's gaze. As his panic-ridden eyes traveled down his arms, trying to focus, he was almost sick again. Realizing that Draco was no longer flailing and endangering anyone, Blaise released his grasp and took a step back, also staring at him in horror.

Blood covered his pale arms, gleaming in the light, pooling from long, uneven slashes in Draco's forearms, and though it wasn't flowing quickly, there was still a steady and horrifying _drip… drip… drip _as it splattered on the ground next to the mess he had already made. "I…I… I…" Draco stuttered, voice shaking, unable to find his words, fear wracking his brain so hard that he couldn't form a coherent thought, let alone a sentence. Blaise held his own hands up in front of him, trying to keep the blood from making more contact with him. His hands were also shaking. Theo stood against the wall, looking thoroughly disturbed, breathing hard, eyeing the door in the room, wanting to escape the scene that might as well have come straight from hell.

"What did you do to yourself?" Theo asked again between his own panicked breaths, urgency lacing his words. Blaise was staring at Draco, waiting for an answer, also breathing a bit harder than normal, still holding his own bloody hands away from his body. The only sound was the thick, steady, sickening _drip…drip…drip… _of Draco's blood onto the floor.

"I don't… I don't know… I don't…." he managed to stutter. He couldn't think. He couldn't do anything. He stood in front of his pile of vomit, the floor stained red, the covers on the bed behind him also soaked in blood.

"You need to go to the hospital wing," said Theo firmly, a hint of hysteria in his voice, edging towards the door a bit, possibly thinking that he might go wake Slughorn.

"Yes, he absolutely does. Theo, clean this up. Draco, come with me. We'll get you cleaned up a bit before we go to Madam Pomfrey," said Blaise in a sudden, business-like way, taking the role of Head Boy and not as Friend. He had always been able to keep a cool head in chaotic situations.

Draco didn't move. He stood there trembling, mouth open in horror, unable to make another noise. Blaise gently grabbed his upper arm and led him to the bathroom. He turned on the water and pulled Draco's arms under the faucet, washing away the blood.

The sink swirled red, his cuts burned sharply under the flow of the luke-warm water, and Draco's thoughts began to gradually come back to him, making more and more sense, becoming clearer and clearer, until they were shouting into his head, echoing through every fiber of his being.

_Dream-Draco and Real-Draco are different people… Dreams and Reality don't mix… He woke up with injuries he had sustained during a dream…_

Oh Merlin! Had he killed Granger? Panic coursed through him again, he tensed, and Blaise quietly apologized, clearly thinking that he had accidently hurt him. Draco looked down at his arms, breathing hard, forcing himself to assess the situation. The cuts weren't very deep. Good. They seemed to have just peeled back the topmost layer of his skin. The worst of them ran a deep line through the black skin of his Dark Mark, slicing the skull in half. Angry welts lined his arms too. Nothing looked immediately threatening. _At least until he went back to sleep…_

Blaise was muttering to himself now as he wrapped Draco's arms in clean towels, before turning back to wash the blood off his own hands. Draco knew he must be absolutely disgusted. Though he enjoyed sly tormenting and manipulation as much as the next Slytherin, Blaise _hated _blood. This would work to Draco's advantage. Blaise wouldn't want to get too involved. He watched him closely, trying to judge how he was going to explain this away. His heart still thudded painfully in his chest, he was still gasping for breath, and his eyes flitted around the room in a truly mad way. He was trying to ignore the memories of the Dream. He was trying to collect his thoughts, trying to make them coherent enough to string a sentence together, because he absolutely could NOT go to the hospital wing. He had possibly just killed Granger. He needed to get in touch with her immediately.

* * *

><p>A great gasp of air, surely larger than any she had ever taken before in her life, suddenly split into her lungs, ripping into the crevices that had been denied oxygen for so long…<p>

Hermione jerked herself hard out of her sleep, whipping her body off the bed, and hit the floor hard, landing on her back. Her breath heaved hard into her lungs, struggling to pass through her throat, which had been so constricted by Malfoy's hands only seconds earlier…

Pure unbridled hysteria had settled in. Her hands shook uncontrollably, and she knocked her wand off the nightstand before she was able to close her fingers around it. She clutched it hard in one hand, close to her chest, as if it were a life-line. Frenzied sobs came hard and fast, and she pressed her face hard into her shoulder, trying to stifle the sound, but Lavender and Parvati were stirring.

"Hermione?" asked Lavender sleepily. She was probably beginning to realize how unnatural Hermione sounded, wheezing, sobbing, crying. She was sitting up. She was going to turn on the lights. Hermione _would not _let anyone see her like this. She managed to get to her feet, but her knees knocked together and her legs were made of jelly, and she didn't think they would support her weight for long. Tears still streaming down her face, sobs racking her body, she half-crouched, half-ran from the room.

"B-b-bad…. Bad d-dream – " she choked out between sobs, hoping to Merlin that the explanation would satisfy her sleepy roommates, and she burst into the dark bathroom, fell to her knees, and crawled to the corner. She forgot to turn on the lights. She was not in control of herself. Her body seemed to be acting on instinct more than anything, and she allowed it to draw her knees tight to her chest. Her tense, trembling arms circled around her legs, still clutching her wand tightly, and she allowed herself to succumb to the full-on panic attack, struggling to draw breath, eyes closed, tears dripping down her face, soaking the knees of her pajamas.

She sat like that in the dark for some time. She desperately wanted the light to chase away the oppressing darkness, but she still didn't trust herself to move. Time seemed to drag on.

Her panting gradually slowed until she was dragging in longer, though still unsteady, breaths. She crawled to the sink and pulled herself up to splash some water on her hot, tear-covered face. She stared at her reflection in the dark. Her mouth was slightly open, her brown eyes wide, disbelieving, terrified. She raised one of her shaky hands to touch the bruises that circled her neck, visible even in the absence of light, but caught a glimpse of something dark and shiny coating her hand. Her eyes seemed to lock into place. She kept them trained on her discolored hand while she waved her wand with the other to illuminate the room, grateful her legs, though shaky, were holding her up without the support of the sink.

The sudden light threw her into a state of shock. There was blood on her hands. There was skin under her fingernails. There were bloody handprints leading from the door, where she had collapsed, to the spot in the corner where she had crawled and curled up. There was blood staining her knees where she had grasped them only moments before, mingling with the tears that had fallen.

But her eyes were dry now. In unadulterated horror, Hermione threw herself at the toilet and proceeded to empty her stomach, her already tender throat now being scraped raw. _What is happening… what is going on… why is the dream causing actual physical harm? It doesn't make sense…_

When she was sure her stomach was empty, she shakily managed to pull herself up and into the shower. She needed a shower more than she ever had in her life. Leaning heavily against the wall, she scrubbed and scrubbed at her hands, under her fingernails, refusing to look at them again until she was sure they would be clean. Then she washed the rest of her, turned off the water, and wrapped herself in a plush towel. Though the hot water had soothed her slightly, she was still shaking uncontrollably. She made her way back to her room and was horrified to see her bed sheets had blood all over them too. Good thing Lavender hadn't gotten out of bed to check on her.

Hermione was still on the brink of full panic, hysteria still gripped at the edges of her thoughts, but she forced herself kept a level head. It was something she was used to doing, though she had never been tested so thoroughly before now. She wanted to run and scream. She needed to find Malfoy. But she knew that there were things she needed to take care of before she did, so she waved her wand, cleaning everything in sight, multiple times, terrified of what state of mind she might be thrust into if she found more blood at a later time. Her actions seemed tinged with madness, even to her. She cleaned the bathroom, spell after spell bouncing off the surfaces, until it sparkled and shone. Only when she was sure that there was not a trace of blood left anywhere in her dorm did she get dressed and allow herself to look in the mirror again, focusing on the bruises she had seen so clearly in the dark.

Dreading this moment, but knowing it needed to be done, she gently pulled her long, dripping hair off her neck with one hand, and gingerly ran her fingers over the marks with her other. Long and striped, it was obviously in the shape of a hand, Malfoy's hand, and the thumb was positioned directly over her trachea. The long finger marks stretched around to the back of her neck and almost made an appearance on the other side.

_I need to talk to Malfoy immediately…_ She cringed at that thought, remembering all the blood, the skin that was pushed under her nails… She gagged and quickly pushed those images from her mind. Repression at its finest. Watching herself in her reflection, she tilted her chin up to expose her neck more, pointed her slightly trembling wand at the ugly bruise, and tried to heal it. She waved her wand over the area, getting more and more frustrated, but the marks didn't leave her. _She had never had trouble with that spell before. _She stared at the mirror, as if in a trance, then casted a Glamour Charm on herself. She didn't use the charm often. She wasn't very skilled with it. But she examined her neck this way and that, and it looked like the marks were gone. She breathed a huge sigh of relief. Now she needed to find Malfoy. Immediately.

* * *

><p>Draco's feet were pounding hard in the hallways, slapping loudly, echoing through the seemingly deserted castle. His heart pounded just as hard. Blaise had been insufferable, trying to ask Draco questions, expressing his concern, holding him up. He had fed some cock-and-bull story to Blaise, claiming that he was on his way to the hospital wing, and that he didn't need an escort. Blaise had looked at him for a second, impassively, calculating eyes, and then allowed him to go. Blaise knew Draco was lying. They had known eachother for ten years, since before Hogwarts, but he knew there was little stopping Draco when he had an idea in his mind. He would pursue him later, but for the time being, Draco was in the clear. Theo had hardly said anything. He had been pale. He seemed almost frightened of Draco. He had been shaking slightly. Draco didn't care.<p>

He had to find Granger, but there was no way he could get into Gryffindor tower. Not like he wanted to anyway, seeing as it was full of the Gryffindor-types at all times. No, he feet took him on a different route, to the Room of Requirement he was so familiar with, hoping, imploring, that Granger was just as shaken as he was, and that she would also feel the dire need to speak to him, and that she wasn't too thick to deduce that the Room of Requirement was the only place they could talk. _If she was still alive… _The sharp panic shot through his limbs again, and he quickened his pace. _Please be there… please be there… _

He rounded the corners quickly, amazed that he hadn't come across anyone, teacher, student, or ghost. Only a portrait or two had hollered at him to put out the light at the tip of his wand or to get back to bed. He was at the room now, and he stopped abruptly to begin the required pacing in order to open the door. He burst into their own personal library, and felt relief flood his body. Granger was sitting on the floor in front of the fire, arms wrapped around her knees, rocking slightly. She didn't seem to have heard him.

"Granger!" he panted, hurrying forward next to her, panic lacing his voice. All pretense was lost. He was terrified. He had never been so scared in his life.

Granger leapt to her feet and whipped around to face him in one fluid movement, faster than he had ever seen her move before. Her wand was out and pointed steadily at his chest, and she was breathing very fast and heavy. Draco froze.

"Oh," she said, lowering her wand slightly, but not putting it away. Her hands began shaking. "It's you. I wasn't sure if you would come…" Her hair was damp. It looked as though it had been dripping down her robes.

Draco strode forward now that she didn't look as though she was going to attack him. "Show me your neck," he demanded. He knew what he would see, but he _needed_ to see it. He needed confirmation. "Hurry up, Granger," he urged when she didn't immediately move.

She pulled her hair around to one side, and he stared at her neck. There was nothing there… nothing… but then…

But now her wand was raised. "Finite," she croaked, and the dark, hand-shaped bruise appeared in all its glory. She didn't say anything more. She simply watched him, chin raised, unmoving. Draco couldn't speak either. His voice was caught in his throat. His grey eyes wide with horror, her brown eyes sad and appraising. Slowly, Draco raised his right hand to her neck, and gently placed it over the marking. She winced, and fear flashed in her eyes, possibly a flashback from the dream, but other than that she did not move.

It was a perfect match. Just as he knew it would be. He did this. _No, Dream-Draco did this. But how?_

Granger interrupted his thoughts: "Let me see." He knew instantly what she was talking about, and so he pulled up the sleeves of his black, button-down shirt to his elbows. Granger's brown eyes widened in horror, and her hand flitted to cover her mouth. She looked as though she might be sick, but she gingerly took hold of his arm, careful not to touch any of the cuts, and bent close to examine it. After a minute or so, she raised her wand to a wound, and muttered a spell. Nothing happened. She tried another. And another.

"Mine couldn't be healed either," she said, suddenly adopting her business-like tone again, turning back to the fire. "Malfoy, I found the page that was ripped out of that book."

"What? Does it explain these fucking marks?" he burst out angrily. All he wanted was some answers.

"Not quite," she said as she bent to pick up an open book with a loose page laying on top of it. "But it explains a bit of what we need to do." Her voice was oddly sad. And then she read aloud:

_If The Affected choose to swallow their pride and attempt to save their own lives, then they must prepare themselves for a living hell until the Dreams have come to the end. In order for The Affected to live through _Somnium Mortalium Hostibus:_  
>- the Affected MUST begin working together from an early stage of affliction (the earlier, the greater their chance at survival)<br>- the Affected MUST avoid sleeping at the same time, for this is when the dreams will occur, and they will become more and more physically damaging as time goes on (if this concept is ignored, both the Affected will surely die)  
>- the Affected MUST forgive one another of every misdeed in the past.<br>- the Affected MUST harbor feelings of love for one another before their bodies begin shutting down.  
>Some would argue that the results of living through <em>Somnium Mortalium Hostibus _is a fate worse than death. Becoming amiable with one's Hostes Mortale (Mortal Enemy) is simply inconceivable in some cases, and The Affected would rather die a tormented death than give in. This raises questions pertaining to Free Will._

* * *

><p>Hermione finished reading the list aloud. Malfoy was silent. "I found it in folded into the jacket the book on manners…" she said quietly, staring at the fire now, not even sure if Malfoy was still standing behind her. She wouldn't have been surprised if he had run from the room. "There was more writing in the margins. <em>'But the planets,' <em>it said. I'm not sure what it means, but it looks like someone else at Hogwarts has gone through this exact process before us."

More silence. Hermione fiddled with the piece of paper in her hand, uncomfortable. She had never felt more awkward than she did at that moment. She wanted to stare at the fire forever, as some excuse to not deal with the issue. But then, unable to take it anymore, she turned to face Malfoy.

He was standing in the exact same spot she had left him, sleeved still rolled up, Dark Mark exposed with the angry red slash cutting through the middle. Had he even moved an inch since she turned? He looked terrifying at that moment, skull-like in appearance himself, skin drawn tight, waxy, hollow eyes, scabs running down his pale arms. Hermione knew she didn't look much better. She waited for him to say something. She was unwilling to break the silence, scared of upsetting his temper, not wanting to interrupt the thoughts that must be racing through his head, but she had to do something to break the tension.

"Draco…" she began cautiously, fully prepared to withdraw at any time to leave him to his thoughts, but she had to say something. She couldn't help herself. He looked completely catatonic. "It sounds bad, I know, but… but… well, we might as well give it an honest attempt, right? I don't want to die, and I know you don't –"

" –Shut up," he interrupted, and though he snarled it the best he could, he did not say it with his usual ferocity. He ran his long-fingered hand through his hair, eyes moving slightly, quickly, in a short back-and-forth motion, calculating. Several more long minutes passed. Hermione was growing restless. "How much time do you think we have?" he finally asked, voice slightly strained.

"I'm not sure," said Hermione, and she picked up a piece of parchment she had been making a chart on. "The dreams started on December 1st, if I remember correctly-"

"-Shut up," he interrupted again. "I know that." Another long pause. Hermione thought she might go insane before he ever said something substantial. They just stood there, ten feet apart, staring at eachother, Hermione waiting, Malfoy's forehead wrinkled in concentration. Finally, "I don't want to be a murderer," he said harshly, eyes finally focusing, looking hard at her. She stared.

"I don't know if that's exactly how it works –" she began, but he interrupted her again.

"-It IS how it works. I might be doing it in my dreams, and I might _hate _that I'm doing it in my dreams, but dammit, it's still me!" he said, fist clenching, teeth grinding. He really hated the idea of killing, even if it was out of his control. Who would have guessed that Draco Malfoy was so against the attempted action that had made him notorious?

"But I'm not comfortable with cozying up to an ignorant fucking mudblood," he continued. Though his voice was not biting, Hermione felt her face get hot as her temper began to rise. Her eyes narrowed on him, and she took a couple quick steps towards him, hard steps, threatening steps, warning him that he'd better not continue down the path he was on. His own grey eyes never left her brown ones, and he wrinkled his nose at her threatening approach. Hermione didn't waver.

"What, you think _I _like the idea of trying to get to understand the man, the coward, that sentenced Dumbledore to death?" she asked coldly, before she pursed her lips and stared at him, waiting for his answer. She would _not _be spoken to like that. She was serious when she told him that she was done with his shit. She just wasn't going to tolerate this behavior any longer. If he pushed her, she would push back harder.

"Hermione," he growled in a low voice, warningly. His eyes had turned to ice. He was working furiously to control his temper. His face had flushed, and Hermione felt a surge of pleasure that she knew just how to strike a nerve with the man that had spent his entire life perfecting how to do the same thing to her. "Granger, you'd better fucking watch yourself. I wasn't done talking."

She continued to glare at him. "Go on, then!" Slowly, tauntingly, he pulled his flask from the pocket of his trousers, and took his bloody time unscrewing the cap. He took the longest pull she had ever seen, taking care to lick his lips after, before taking his sweet time replacing it in his pocket. She sighed hard, rolling her eyes. They might as well sign their death certificates now. _But I'm not ready to die… _the words protested in the back of her head. She wasn't going to give this up without a fight. There were things that were worse than death, and though this entire situation seemed infuriating and impossible, she was sure that this wasn't one of them.

"As I was saying," he finally continued in his most superior manner. "The idea is disgusting to me. It makes me sick to think about." He looked down his nose at her, lip curling, as if to show her exactly how much he hated the idea. "However, I am not going to die without a fight, and I sure as fuck am not going to kill you, so the only other option we are left with is to do our best to give this a shot. A Malfoy will not be taken down so easily, by a _fucking dream."_

Hermione suppressed the urge to roll her eyes again. _A fucking dream… _she thought sarcastically. _As if he hasn't been just as tormented. As if he doesn't feel how abnormal and powerful they are. As if he isn't scared._ Her hatred for him surged, as it hadn't since he had forced himself to ask for her help. And they had been doing so well trying to get along. She supposed this was some sort of defense mechanism of his, but it didn't stop the anger from welling up in her chest, threatening to pour over at any minute. Angrily, she conjured up a squishy arm chair in front of the fire, turning her back on him to sit and fume.

Did he think that she liked the idea any more than he did? She had been nothing but cordial with him, and he had even shown some return of the friendly feelings; he stood up to Ron and Harry for her, he had comforted her last night after her greatest confession the night before…

And as if he was reading her thoughts, he said in a much softer, un-Malfoy-like voice, "You know, anyone would have done the same thing in your situation. The one you were talking about last night. I don't know why you are so secretive about it."

"No," she said firmly. Malfoy didn't understand. "Harry wouldn't have. He would have stunned. I don't know why my mind assumed the Killing Curse was the best defense…" she flinched as she said it. It wasn't something she had ever spoken aloud before.

Malfoy snorted, as he conjured a chair next to hers, facing the fire, and throwing himself into it. _"Saint Potter."_He seemed to be grinding his teeth again. "Fucking _Scarhead _can do no wrong, can he? He sacrifices his pride to save my mother's and my life. _How noble _of him. I'll bet the whole process gave him a real _saving-people-rush."_

A wave of guilt washed lightly over Hermione. It was still very early. Soon she would have to seek out the boys and talk to them. In the mean time, she was sitting in the Room of Requirement with a boy that they all hated – no, that wasn't true. She reasoned with herself. She _used _to hate Malfoy… he used to be the scum of the Earth. But now, she was beginning to understand him as a person. The shield he put up around himself, using his insults as a defense mechanism, the reasons he felt contempt for her friends, and that he was a very loyal person in general. And that he cared about her, even if it was just a little bit, he had proven it. Not a shred of anger was left in her body now, as Hermione admitted to herself, that she cared for him too, even if he was a huge git most of the time.

* * *

><p>Hermione Granger would have never been his first choice as a love interest. She wouldn't have been his second, third, tenth, or hundredth, for that matter. He had sneered at her, criticizing her bushy hair, buck-teeth, and constant need to be the center of attention. He hated many things about her, like her stupid friends, her stupid intellect, and her stupid looks. But he had been thrust into this situation. Give Granger a chance, or die. There was no other way around it. No Malfoy would die in such an undignified manner. But then, was it more dignified to keep the company of mudbloods? A year ago, he would not have hesitated to declare that he would rather die, but now he wasn't so sure…<p>

The Dark Lord was not everything Draco had believed him to be. Was it possible that Granger wasn't everything he thought her to be?

Draco took another extraordinary long pull from his flask. His stomach was warm. His head was buzzing, though with whiskey or exhaustion, he wasn't sure. He absentmindedly ran his hand over his left arm, over the scrapes, over the disgraceful Dark Mark, feeling the dull burning from the contact.

He could leave. He could pretend this had never happened. But then the Dreams wouldn't leave him alone until he was dead. Judging by the intensity of last night, they would be dead closer to the three-month mark than the six… but if they continued to work together… As much as he hated the idea, it was necessary. They could take their sleep in shifts. They could monitor eachother. They could give eachother a chance. And they had to go into this with an open mind… It wasn't something Draco was used to.

He glanced sideways at Granger, who was staring into the fire as he had been, lost in thought. He took a good hard look at her. Her hair was dry now, from sitting in front of the fire no doubt, and she had pulled it back into a pony tail. A couple tendrils had fallen, and they curled loosely to frame her face. Maybe her hair wasn't as bushy as it had been six years ago. He shook his head, trying to rid himself of all thoughts. He didn't want to think about this now. And he took another long pull. Happy Sunday, he thought to himself gloomily. Drunk before the sun had risen.

"So…" he broke the long silence, uncomfortably. "How do you propose we go about this?"

Granger seemed to be ready with an answer, as if this was what she had been contemplating the whole time. "We need to keep researching all that we can. We've not even gone through half the books, and I'm sure the Room wouldn't have put them there unless they had some information we could use. And we need to… well… do a better job of getting along, I guess…" she squirmed a bit, also visibly uncomfortable. "And I _really _want to know who has been writing on all the information we've found. It could be very important. If we found out who it was, then we could see how they turned out… or if they…"

She trailed off, but he didn't need her to finish the sentence. _If they died, _she was going to say. Draco stood suddenly, swaying slightly, hating himself, grimacing, thinking he must do what had to be done. In order to save both their lives. It was necessary, as much as it was unwanted. The whiskey had filled him with the courage to plunge in. If they only had a month left, minimum, then they couldn't be wasting their time staring into fires and avoiding eachother's gaze.

Granger was still sitting, legs curled under her, leaning to one side, though she was looking up at him curiously, as he was now standing directly in front of her chair. He leaned down, swallowing his pride as the book had suggested, determined not to kill or die. One hand on either side of the arms of the chair, he was inches from her face, and he stared for a long minute into Granger's wide, confused, intricately brown eyes. Could he bring himself to do this?

He didn't have a choice, did he? "We might as well jump right in," he murmured, and Granger's eyes went wider. He was much too close to her. His heart thudded. He felt slightly sick to his stomach. But he licked his lips and leaned in closer…


	11. Chapter 10: Heavy Glow

Hermione trembled. Her eyes were wide, questioning, apprehensive, staring directly into the cold, calculating, slightly hazy, quickly approaching eyes of Malfoy. He paused. Their noses were almost touching. Her mouth was slightly open, surprised, heart pounding, breathing a bit harder than normal. What was he thinking? How much had he really drank? Was he being serious right now? She had expected him to storm from the room the minute she had read those words. She had expected him to flip tables, yell at her, destroy everything in sight, maybe. She had been expecting his originally harsh words. His temper to flare. A sudden attitude. Insults. Maybe he would have accused her of lying. Maybe he would have spat that he would rather die.

She was not expecting this. She would never, ever, in a thousand lifetimes, expect Draco Malfoy to so quickly accept that they must be together in every sense in order to break the curse that was their dreams. But they couldn't live without eachother, no matter how much either of them hated the idea. He was plunging in feet first. Her heart pounded loudly. He could probably hear it. This was either the beginning or the end of their lives. So much rested on how they both reacted to this moment, and she closed her eyes and she felt familiar panic rising in her chest.

And suddenly, his lips were against hers, cool and smooth. An electrical shocking sensation ripped through her entire being, stronger than she had ever felt it, and she jolted and tensed. He paused, and she knew he had felt it too. The taste and smell of Fire Whiskey flooded her senses, and he slowly moved his lips against hers. He was shaking slightly too. She returned the kiss, hesitantly, and hand shaking wildly, she shifted it to place on top of his, still on the arm of her chair.

He pulled back, and Hermione's eyes fluttered open. The beating of her heart was almost painful. This was it. This was the moment that would decide if they could go through with this. If they were going to live or die. Malfoy said nothing. He stood straight in front of her, looking down with his grey eyes, sizing her up a bit, it seemed. She breathed shaky breaths, trying to focus. It wasn't as bad as she had thought it would be. _But she had just kissed Draco Malfoy…_

He took a deep breath, his own hands trembling slightly as they pushed his hair out of his face, but when he spoke, he had somehow managed to bring his usual tone back. "Granger, as insufferable as you are most of the time, that was not completely repulsive, and I think we should give ourselves a chance."

A shaky laugh escaped her lips, which still tingled slightly from the electrical shock. Typical Malfoy. Her heart still thudded painfully, but the pace slowed, and she was slowly filled with a feeling of elation. It hadn'tbeen _so_ bad. They might have a chance…

Her face felt hot. "So," began Hermione, determinedly ignoring how awkward she suddenly felt. It was best to get down to business. It was probably late enough that other students were beginning to wake up, so she would be able to hunt down Harry and Ron soon. "So, we need to decide on a sleep schedule." She couldn't help but feel excited about this. The book had said that if they slept at different times, then the dreams couldn't occur. She so desperately wanted a dreamless sleep…

Subconsciously, her hand gently rubbed the bruises on her neck. Malfoy watched this with an odd expression on his face. Guilt? Regret? She quickly removed her hand.

"Yeah," agreed Malfoy quickly. "What times do-"

But Hermione had already migrated to the little table and was drawing up a schedule, and was talking out loud, more to herself than Malfoy. "If we set aside time from 9pm to 7am, which would leave us an almost normal schedule during the day, we can each sleep for five hours, which really is a lot more than either of us have been getting. We can't go past 7 in the morning, unfortunately, because of early classes, and I feel like going to bed any earlier would rouse suspicion- "

"Granger!" she snapped out of her thoughts and looked up at him, quill in hand, schedule half-drawn on the parchment. "I'm not a fucking idiot. You don't have to explain every little mundane thing to me. Do you want first or second shift?"

"Oh, well, uh…" she stuttered. It was harder than she thought not to irritate Malfoy. "I don't really care…"

"Great," he continued, rolling his eyes. "I'll take first shift. 9-2. Got it? You take 2-7. Done."

"Now, we must be very careful not to oversleep our shifts…"

"Granger," Malfoy sighed. _"I know! _I understand, okay?"

"Okay…" Hermione said, uncertainly. He seemed to understand, but it really was very important. Their lives depended on this schedule after all. But she would have to trust him. _Trust Malfoy…_ today was certainly full of firsts. "Okay," she said, trying to bring some briskness back into her demeanor. She tilted her chin up and held her wand to her throat, closing her eyes, and cast a Glamour Charm on herself. She didn't have a mirror, but she thought she must have done it correctly.

She waved her wand and cleaned up the room a bit, before turning for the exit. "I guess I'll see you later…" she began, but Malfoy had a pained look on his face.

He held up his arms in front of him, angry red slashes flashing in the firelight. "Would you mind…?" he asked, seemingly straining to be polite. Hermione offered a small smile, raised her wand once more, and obliged.

* * *

><p>All in all, everything went better than expected.<p>

It was still very early in the morning, though the sun had managed to peek over the horizon. Draco returned to his dormitory to lay in bed and wait for Blaise and Theo to wake. He quietly stepped into the the room, being careful not to stumble in the wake of alcohol, and assessed what had previously been a disaster zone. His sheets were clean, completely spot free, as was the floor where he had lost his stomach and a substantial amount of blood. His comforter, which had been wrapped tightly around him causing him to panic, was also clean and folded neatly at the foot of his bed.

The room looked so very neat and normal. Theo was snoring lightly. Draco shivered. This room had been thrown into a chaos he had never known mere hours earlier, and now it looked as though nothing had happened. It was odd.

Still not making a sound, not wanting to talk to anyone yet, Draco removed his shoes and lay back in his bed, pulling his warm comforter to surround him. Granger was a powerful witch. The Glamour Charm she had placed on his arms completely masked the cuts, though Draco could still feel the dull, persistent burning. He would have to tell Blaise that Madam Pomfrey had healed him. He still wasn't sure how he was going to explain how they appeared in the first place. Blaise was very perceptive. Theo was very suspicious. It had been a terrifying event. They were not going to let it drop so easily.

Blaise shifted in his sleep, and Draco froze. _Please don't let him wake up yet…_He had never been an early riser, but considering the streak of bad luck Draco had recently had with Granger…

He inwardly groaned. Granger. The name did not bring with it as many feelings of contempt as it had in the past, but he still cringed. He would have to keep this whole ordeal a secret as long as possible. He would never hear the end of it if anyone found out that he kissed the mudblood… much less that they are tied together in a way that forces them to constantly interact…. A way that will force them to love or die. Mother would be ashamed. Father would probably disown him. Draco suddenly felt a little sick to his stomach.

As frustrating as it was, Draco was thankful that it had taken them a long time to find the answer to their problems. He hated Granger – no, he hated _some aspects_ of Granger – but everything would have seemed so much worse if they had found the page even a day earlier. It seemed to have cropped up at a very opportune moment, when they were both shaking, scared, vulnerable…

Draco rolled his eyes at himself. Fuck this thinking shit. And knowing that there was no way that the overachiever Granger would be laying down, he rolled onto his side and fell asleep.

* * *

><p>Hermione sat in the common room in front of the dying embers in the fireplace long after everyone else had gone to sleep. It was minutes until 2, and she eyes the clock sleepily, watching the second hand tick, waiting desperately for the time where she could lay in her bed and not worry about the Dreams. It had been so long since she had experienced a worry-free night…<p>

She was fairly confident that Malfoy would be diligent in waking up on time, though a bit of anxiety still clenched in her stomach. What if he forgot? What if he overslept by just a little? What sorts of horrors would happen in her sleep this time? Her heart began to speed up and she dropped her quill, frustrated with its knee-jerk reaction to a bit of paranoia. Yes, it was paranoia. She was not being realistic. She could trust Malfoy to be awake on time. His life was on the line just as much as hers was.

Firmly, she pushed the thoughts out of her mind and looked back down at her Charms essay, picking her quill back up and dipping it in ink. Seconds later, her eyes had already slid out of focus. It was useless. She was exhausted. She had too much on her mind. She was not going to get anything more done tonight. Her mind drifted.

Early that morning, she had run into Ginny while waiting for Harry and Ron to show up in the common room, and the girl had graciously agreed to accompany her for their talk. Ginny was her only ally, and she was the only person that knew even a little of what was going on. Ron, however, upon spotting Hermione approaching them, had sneered and left immediately, but Harry had offered a quiet apology before walking swiftly after his friend. It hadn't been the reaction Hermione had been hoping for, but it was better than Ron losing his head completely to shout at her.

According to Ginny, Harry had been trying to talk Ron down, and he was succeeding little by little. Harry understood that they didn't have the full story, and wanted to hear her explanation. He was just trying to placate Ron before the inevitable discussion so it might go a little easier on all of them. Hermione felt a rush of gratitude towards Harry when she thought about this. She wasn't completely hated. She wasn't completely alone. She looked up at the clock again. _Three minutes…_

Knowing that there was no way she would focus enough to write another single word in those three minutes, she began packing up her stuff, taking extra care to close her books carefully, stack her parchment neatly, moving as slowly as possible, trying to kill some time. She looked back up at the clock. _One minute… _Excitement at the idea of sleep ridiculously began to fill her.

A soft _tap-tapping _sounded at the window to the common room. Startled, Hermione whipped her head around to find the source of the sound, and saw the great eagle owl that she knew belonged to Malfoy. Her heart sank. Had something gone wrong? Hands beginning to tremble slightly, trying to ignore the sudden clenching in her stomach, she pushed the window open, shivering at the cold February breeze that blew her hair back, and quickly retrieved the message. The owl swiftly took off again, and she hurried to close the window before returning to the fireplace, hoping to soak in the last bit of warmth from the embers.

_I'm awake. Stop freaking out._

She sighed in relief. Nothing was wrong. Malfoy was just letting her know that he was awake now. How uncharacteristically decent of him. She smile slightly and began her ascent to her bed, anticipating its warmth and comfort more than ever now that she knew she could sleep soundly. Five hours of sleep… it seemed unreal that she would be getting so much rest. She only bothered to drop her bag and take off her shoes, not even thinking about taking the time to change into her pajamas.

She was asleep before her head hit her pillow.

* * *

><p>It had been the best five hour sleep Draco could ever remember having, but the early morning hours after that had seemed to drag on and on. He eventually abandoned the pitch-black dorm room for the green-lit common room, deciding that he might as well get some homework done.<p>

Blaise had been very surprised to find Draco in his bed when he woke up the morning before. Well, he was as surprised as Blaise ever appeared to be. He had raised his eyebrows inquiringly and asked how the hospital wing had been. He was testing Draco. He knew he hadn't gone to the hospital wing.

Draco prided himself on his ability to sidestep, though and had shown Blaise his apparently healed wrists, mentioning that Madam Pomfrey had patched him up in minutes, blaming the injuries on a nightmare in which there were spiders crawling all over his wrists.

"_I must have done it to myself," _he had said, shrugging. _"Pomfrey gave me some Dreamless Sleep Draught and sent me back to bed."_

Draco had even produced the old bottle he had to prove it. Theo seemed to have relaxed immediately upon hearing this, and had audibly sighed in relief. Blaise had said nothing, though. Blaise was hard to fool. He had been paying too much attention to Draco over the past few weeks.

It was morning now, and the other Slytherins were beginning their Monday routines. The sounds of them stirring roused Draco's senses, and he began to pack his books away. His stomach rumbled quietly, and he glared at it for a minute. It was time for breakfast, and then potions with Granger. He was not in a good mood. It would not be easy to be civil with her, considering her track record for being indescribably annoying. Could he do it to save his life?

Well, he had brought himself to kiss her in order to try to save his life. He cringed slightly at the memory. It seemed much more vivid and horrifying than it had while his stomach was full of Fire Whiskey. Sitting next to her, working with her, would be awkward, but if he had to do it to save his life…

He sighed. _What the fuck have I gotten myself into…_ he wondered tiredly. He felt as though he had aged decades in the past couple months. He didn't know if his life would ever go back to any degree of normalcy. If he survived, he would be spending his life with Granger of all people. He wrinkled his nose. No, his life would never be normal again. Soft footsteps stopped his train of thought, and he was thankful. Blaise and Theo had appeared in the common room now.

They went up to breakfast together, and though the early hours of the morning had seemed to scrape by, moving as slowly as possible, wearing down on Draco, breakfast passed by so quickly that he almost couldn't remember if he had eaten. He had sat with his back to the Gryffindor table, not wanting to face the mess he was in until he absolutely had to. A nasty look overcame his face every time he thought about it, and when asked, he simply grumbled that he was not looking forward to working with the insufferable mublood today. This was a very suitable answer in the Slytherin house, and no one questioned him farther. Everyone seemed satisfied with his attitude except Blaise. Blaise seemed to be watching him a little too closely.

All too soon in Draco's opinion, they were descending into the dungeons. Each step seemed heavy, begging him to ditch, to turn back, to avoid Granger at all costs. He was dreading this lesson almost as much as he had been dreading those dreams. _No, that's not true at all, _he reminded himself. _NOTHING is as bad as those dreams… _The idea gave him a little courage, though the tightness in his stomach did not release.

They rounded the corner and entered the classroom. She wasn't there yet. He breathed a sigh of relief and headed for his table in the far back corner, relaxing a bit in his chair, leaning back, closing his eyes, and focusing on his breathing. This wouldn't be so bad. He loved potions, and was very good at it. If only Slughorn wasn't so busy kissing Potter's ass. Someone set down a bag on the table, and he lazily opened his eyes, finally feeling as though some of his old swagger was returning. He could do this. He was a Malfoy. He could deal with anything.

"I see you didn't bother to begin setting things up," muttered Granger irritably. He smirked. You would think that she would have removed the stick from her ass once she got a relatively good night of sleep.

"I'm not going to set up your half of the potion, Malfoy," she continued as though he actually cared. He hadn't expected her to, but it was more fun to listen to her prattle on angrily. "You have to put in just as much effort as me. This isn't a one sided potion. It's essential to the brewing that we cooperate."

_Blah, blah, blah…_He already lost interest. He had been worrying about nothing. Granger still had her better-than-you attitude, and he dealt with it like usual by actually being better than her. After a long, reaching, joint-cracking stretch, he leaned forward in his seat and began to set up his half of the poison-antidote set – the poison.

Slughorn emerged at that moment, and looked around excitedly, beaming at his pet Potter as usual. "Ah, I see most of you have already begun to set up! You will find your cauldrons in the black cabinet at the back of the room, where they have been stewing. Carry on, then!"

Hermione and Draco had only just begun brewing. Though they had made up the lesson that they missed the first week, they were taking care to do everything precisely. Luckily, most of the other students were being very careful as well, and so they were not behind on the project. Almost everyone else was wrapped up in measuring and preparing ingredients.

He looked over and noticed that Granger was looking sideways at him, though she quickly went back to her cauldron when he caught her. He rolled his eyes. She was not at all an expert on subtlety. He looked around the room, delaying his work as long as possible, and noticed Weasel shooting angry looks at Granger. _I guess their chat went well, then, _he thought absently. Scarhead seemed mainly unconcerned. Draco quickly went back to his work. It was infuriating to look at Potter for too long.

Granger was ignoring him now. That was the way he preferred it in potions. He didn't want to have talks about their feelings or their situation or how either of them were coping with all this. He relaxed more. This potions class was how it should be. Quiet. Whispery voices here and there between partners. And him and Granger ignoring eachother or else taunting eachother. It was almost as if life would be normal for the next two hours.

* * *

><p>Hermione seethed. After all that they had been through, Malfoy was still not pulling his weight. He was looking around the classroom as if he was bored. He hadn't even touched the ingredients in front of him. He was completely ignoring their project. Hermione had thought that he might focus a little more since… well…. Since they started to get along more. Since they were being forced to begin to tolerate eachother or otherwise die.<p>

She finished cutting up some roots and reread the fifth line of instructions very carefully before dumping them in her cauldron, perhaps with a little more force than she otherwise would have. She reached in her bag for a quill to mark off the step she had already done when her elbow bumped Malfoy's arm. He quickly moved it away from her.

She had frozen. A weird feeling, very unlike the buzzing that she had become so used to, shot from the point of contact throughout the rest of her body. It wasn't anything she had ever felt before. It was both hot and cold at the same time, and it tingled for some time after contact had been made. She slowly turned to look at Malfoy, her mouth slightly open, eyes narrowed in confusion. _What in the world was that?_

Malfoy's forehead was creased, his eyebrows drawn close together, and he was pursing his lips slightly. He had felt it too. She opened her mouth to say something, anything, wanting confirmation that she hadn't imagined it, but he shook his head ever so slightly, his eyes flickered over her shoulder, and then he went back to work. Hermione turned in what she hoped was a nonchalant manner to see what he had looked at, and found Harry's deep green eyes staring hard at her, confusion written all over his face.

She quickly turned back and bustled her papers around, trying to throw her mind back into the task in front of her.

"Granger, you are the complete opposite of subtle," Malfoy spoke lowly out of the corner of his mouth, not looking at her. She turned her head slightly to glare at him. "Case in point," he said pointedly.

She turned back to her ingredients, frowning, and carefully added the next in the instructions. She said nothing, but irritation plucked at her chest.

"Potter knows something is up," he continued quietly, and she felt the irritation growing. "He is more confused than angry, though. He is going to try to talk to you later."

"_How the hell do you know?" _she hissed. Stupid Malfoy thought he knew everything about everyone. He was so self-assured and full of himself. She could almost hear him rolling his eyes at this.

"Potter is the worst Occlumens in the world," he said, as if it was obvious. "He has absolutely no idea how to block his thoughts. He might as well be shouting them at everyone. Even without that working against him, he shows every insignificant emotion he has on the ugly face of his. I bet he can't tell the simplest of lies."

_Legilimency… _Hermione had not thought about the concept much since two years ago when Harry was trying to learn to block his mind. Malfoy must be practiced. The idea made her uncomfortable. How often did he go poking into other peoples' minds? How often had he been poking around in hers? She fidgeted. "Do you want to meet up after dinner for some research?" she asked, trying to change the subject. She wasn't sure she really wanted to know how much Malfoy knew.

His lip twitched in amusement, but otherwise he did not say anything else. Hermione decided this was a 'Yes', and did not pursue him for more details. It was an awkward enough conversation without her trying to force answers.

They didn't talk for the remainder of the lesson, Hermione looking determinedly anywhere but at Malfoy. When the bell rang she packed up wordlessly and left. If he wasn't going to bother talking to her in public, then she wouldn't try. It was for the best anyway, she assured herself. The whole situation was confusing and embarrassing and she didn't want to bring attention to the fact that her life was completely out of her control. Hopefully they would make more progress that evening. Hopefully they would continue to get along. Hopefully Harry and Ron wouldn't rip her head off when they finally had their chat.


	12. Chapter 11: Rush

_Free Will_

Draco sat in front of the fire place in the Room of Requirement as if the chair was his throne, wearing a set of his most luxurious robes, feet propped in front of him, a glass of whiskey in hand. He glared at the flames, which were crackling so merrily, taunting him, it seemed. Free Will was not something that he was used to contemplating. Of course, he had always assumed that he was acting under Free Will, but in light of recent circumstances, he felt the need to reexamine his life choices, which made him wonder if he had ever made a real choice in his life.

In his early years, he had been raised in a certain way, which influenced every decision he had made. Had he really made those decisions on his own account, then? Or had he simply been acting as Mother and Father had taught him to? That wasn't a very convincing case for Free Will in his early childhood. _No, _he thought, idly sipping his drink, _No, Free Will must not exist until you are your own person… big enough to make your own decisions._

But _had _he ever made his own decisions? Draco had thought that he had been acting on his own Free Will last year. He had bragged about it, even. He flinched slightly as memories of his blunders rose to the surface of his memory. But he _hadn't _been acting on his own Free Will at that time. As much as he would have liked to believe it at the time, he wouldn't have done any of that if the Dark Lord had not been threatening his and his family's lives.

He supposed he had the option to give up and die during that time. Did that constitute as Free Will?

_Definitely not, _he thought bitterly. It gave the illusion of Free Will, in his opinion, but any asshat that had to choose between dying and living would obviously choose living. _So…_he mused, pursing his lips at the fire, _So, there is no Free Will in this fucked up situation either._ Had he _ever _made a decision on his own accord? The thought was troubling.

"Draco?" He jumped ridiculously, almost spilling his drink everywhere, and cursed. Granger had snuck in during his little soliloquy moment. She had been standing quietly behind him for who-knows-how-long. _Merlin, I hope I wasn't talking out loud. _

"Granger," he replied in greeting, smoothing his robes and resituating himself. "Tell me how the rest of your day went." He was still trying to pull himself from the depths of his own mind. He needed a minute to push the disturbing thoughts away. He took a long drink to help.

She didn't answer right away, and he did not turn back around, but he could hear her setting her bag down, pulling out bits of parchment, quills, ink ."It was alright. I felt more rested than I have in a while," she answered softly. Her voice wavered oddly. Had she been crying? Probably over something stupid. He still didn't turn around.

"You were right," she continued. She had stopped rustling around. "Harry did come to talk to me today." She paused, though he felt that it was a pause to collect her thoughts, and she was not silently asking for a response. "That's why I'm a bit late. He found me in the common room when I was packing up. So I had a chat with him and Ron, but Ron stormed out half-way through. He was really angry. Harry listened, though. I only told him the bare details. Nothing about… about what we've found, really. I don't know if he believed me, but at least he listened…"

_Merlin, _was she done yet? Any fool could have told her that this was exactly how that conversation would play out. Potty and Weasel were the most predictable people on the planet. Except for perhaps Granger. She was definitely up there, too. So to head off what would surely have been a tear-filled confession of her fears that their friendship would never be the same, that they would never forgive her, blah blah blah, he stood and stretched, finished his drink, vanished his glass, and finally turned to face her so he could take a seat at the little library table. "Shall we begin?" he asked plainly.

He restrained himself from rolling his eyes as she hurriedly tried to discreetly wipe her tears away. "Yes," she said, trying to bring some of her usual know-it-all attitude back into her voice. "We shouldn't waste any time."

They sat in silence for a while, the only sound was the occasional flipping of a page. This was how Draco liked it. Especially when he was around Granger. Merlin, if she just kept her mouth shut all the time, then this would be so much easier. Yes, she was vaguely pretty. If she never spoke again then he could see himself being with her.

It was getting boring now, and he sighed. He found himself fidgeting. He started flipping through the pages without really looking to see what was on them. This had to be the _dullest _work in the world. Granger must have noticed him fidgeting more and more, for she set down her quill, which had yet to write anything, and leaned back to pull her long brown hair into a pony tail. "What's on your mind?" she asked directly, noticing he was wrinkling his nose.

He sneered. He was coming to be in a bad mood. Well, if he could put up with a bit of a conversation, then he wouldn't have to look through all the useless books. He produced his flask. He would draw this out as long as possible. "I was thinking a bit about this Free Will bullshit," he decided to answer a bit honestly. She looked at him evenly, waiting for him to go on. "I don't think it exists, and it _pisses _me _off. _Especially in this situation. We don't have a fucking choice-"

"-What are you talking about?" interrupted Granger, and he glared at her for stopping what was surely going to be one of his better rants.

"Duh, Granger. Free Will? The ability to make your own choices free of constraints?" Merlin, how did everyone think this girl was so intelligent? She was one of the slowest people he had ever met.

Her eyes darkened. "I know what it means!" she snapped. "What I meant was, how can you not think that we have a choice?"

His mouth opened slightly. Was she being serious? Was she really this stupid? She must not understand the concept of Free Will at all. He sighed, exasperated. "I don't know if you've been paying attention, but we've been thrust into a bit of a situation here."

"Malfoy, we obviously have a choice here. We talked about it when we read that paragraph. We agreed to try to get through this. How is that not Free Will?" Her face was blank. She really just did not get this at all. He was going to have to explain it to her as is she was a two-year-old.

His irritation was reaching a high. He was seconds away from standing up to take his own little break by the fire. It was as if he was babysitting. Granger was so bad at even the most basic comprehension. "No, we _don't _have a choice. Our options are die or try to… be with eachtother." He shuddered upon hearing himself utter those words. "No idiot would choose to _die _under any circumstances_._ Therefore, this is not _real _Free Will."

Upon these words, Granger stood suddenly, her eyes flaming. He gave her his very best _What-the-fuck-is-your-problem _look while she glared down at him, nostrils flaring. "You… are such an idiot. Perhaps things are different on _your _side of the war, but it is _not _uncommon for _our _side to choose to sacrifice themselves in order to further the progress of the good cause."

Draco stood up quickly to look her in the eyes, his chair clattering to the floor loudly behind him. _His side? _He was absolutely fuming. He narrowed his eyes. He was panting a bit. His cheeks were warm. How _dare _she bring that up. She had absolutely no right. _No fucking right! _He wanted desperately to hit her across the face as she had so readily done to him on two occasions, but instead he drew in a deep breath, holding it, preventing him from saying all the nasty things he wanted to. Hands shaking, he whipped around, kicked the fallen chair as hard as he could. It rocketed across the room, and he strode to the fire place.

His temper was never completely under control, but he had thought he had been improving somewhat. He hadn't broken his hand in a while despite his constant feelings of anger. But now his blood boiled and a huge pressure settled into his chest, urging him to act. His shaking hands were clenched tightly at his side, and he stared into the fire with an ugly expression on his face, thoughts swirling hard, banging against the inside of his skull.

"_Malfoy!" _Granger's voice penetrated his hot skin, causing more color to rise in his face. He ground his teeth.

"_Shut the fuck up!" _

* * *

><p>Hermione stood frozen to the spot, leaning forward slightly onto the little table, anger drained from her body, color drained from her face. She immediately shut her mouth. <em>She had gone too far<em>… Once again, she had unintentionally provoked Malfoy to a point that scared the living hell out of her. _This could not become a habit. _The chair he had kicked away lay in splinters against the wall. Her wide, fearful eyes didn't leave his back. The chair was repairable. She wasn't worried about it. But she had been sure for a moment that he was going to deck her in the face. Why did she always seem to get that feeling from him?

She wanted to apologize. She hadn't meant to provoke him, but he shouldn't have said something to implicitly _stupid_. He had touched a nerve, implying that so many people she knew and loved had died for nothing. That their actions wouldn't have mattered one way or the other.

Now she felt foolish for getting so defensive. There was no possible way he could understand. There had been absolutely no reason to get so testy with him. Something about him just irked her.

Slowly, she brought her hands to her face. They were trembling slightly, and she pushed her face through them, wiping herself of everything that had just happened. Clearing her head.

He would not have hit her, she decided. Malfoy had too much pride in his ideals to break them. Comforted by this, she took a deep, shaky breath, and approached him slowly, taking care to rustle her robes a little so that she would not surprise him. "I'm really sorry," she said quietly when she was close to him. Her voice was slightly uneven, and she inwardly frowned at herself. She would not let herself cry. She had done too much crying lately.

He said nothing for a moment, but took his flask back out, unscrewed it with slightly-steadier hands, and took a drink. "You're right," he said, his voice strained as though saying those two words had taken all his strength, and shock welled up in Hermione. He continued to surprise her day after day. "We _are _making a conscious choice here."

He turned back around to face her. Her heart fluttered. She had to ask. The question had been bothering her all day, but she was unpracticed in these sorts of affairs, and so she stuttered uncomfortably, with the air of getting the worst out of the way, "Do you… do you regret kissing me yesterday?" After all, if he _did _regret it, then they had an almost zero chance of surviving.

His eyes locked on hers, and he looked hard at her for a full three seconds, as if sizing her up, and then he took a step to close the distance between them. Her breath caught in her throat.

One of his hands slid around smoothly to the small of her back, the other, cold and smooth, callus-free, came under her chin and tilted her head up. She felt her cheeks flush as he looked into her eyes for just another second before pressing his lips onto hers, kissing her hard.

Hermione's own hands slid behind his neck, and she willed herself not to tremble this time, despite the fact that her heart was pumping so hard that she worried it might stop. She lost track of time. They could have stood there like that for seconds, minutes, hours, it didn't matter. The fire crackled in the background and she forgot the heated argument that had just passed.

However long it had been, Malfoy eventually broke the kiss, but did not completely draw away. His hot breath brushed her cheek. "Not entirely, Hermione," he muttered in answer to her question. And then he broke their contact completely. She stood there, unmoving, flustered, not sure what to think of anything anymore. He had begun walking back to the little table, and he raised his wand to repair the splintered chair.

She realized she had been standing there like an idiot for several seconds, and forced herself to snap out of the trance. "You know, I used to think that I would rather die than spend time with you," she said, trying to bring control back to her side of the conversation. She hoped her cheeks weren't flaming anymore as she finally moved to join him at their table. He snorted.

"Yeah, well, things change when you're actually faced with that decision, I guess." He had sat in his repaired chair, looking down at his book, and she sat back down facing him. She looked at his face carefully, searching for emotions, until he finally looked up from his book and raised an inquiring eyebrow at her. She smiled ever so slightly, embarrassed, and went back to her own book. What a weird day it had been.

* * *

><p>The week had dragged on and on. Time had been slow in general for the past couple months. Draco lay in bed, skimming through a Transfiguration book. Theo's quill was scratching on parchment next to him. Blaise sat at his desk, looking at something intently.<p>

It had been a long week, but it had gone rather well. Draco and Hermione had been meeting every other day at Granger's insistence. Some nonsense about needing more time to study. Though they hadn't found much more information, and though she still drove him up the walls, he was beginning to feel a bit more comfortable with their routine. They hadn't argued since the past Sunday, though at times they had become overly strained and polite with one another. It surprised him how hard he was willing to try to get along with her. All for the sake of self-preservation, he guessed.

They had kept a consistent sleep schedule. Five hours per night. 9 to 2 for him. Draco's body still ached, and he was still tired, but he could function now. His brain was working better. His eyes would focus. He was drinking less and eating more. It was blissful. He hadn't realized how much he took for granted.

The consistent sleep schedule seemed to have caused Blaise to back off a bit. Draco hadn't woken up in so much as a cold sweat, and he knew that Blaise, the nosy fucker he is, had been paying annoyingly close attention. Draco wanted badly to shove it in his face, but that would require admitting that something had been wrong in the first place. Instead, neither of them mentioned it to the other, though Draco supposed that Blaise was still keeping a watchful eye on him. He couldn't blame him, either, after those incidents: finding Draco sick in the bathroom, then finding him covered in his own blood.

A chill went down Draco's spine. He would not think of such things. He and Granger had been doing so well recently. They had a system down that would keep them alive until, well, until they grew on eachother or until they died.

"I got a letter from my aunt today," Theo said, putting down his quill, breaking the silence. Neither Draco nor Blaise looked up from what they were doing. It was typical Slytherin fashion. If Theo wanted to continue his story, then he would, regardless of their reactions to this announcement.

"She said she went to lunch with your mom, Draco." That got his attention. He looked up at his friend expectantly. "She was very worried about her, but getting out of the Manor for the afternoon seemed to have perked her up." Draco breathed a sigh of relief. So Mother _was _interacting a bit with other people, even if it was just a little. It was comforting to know. He still hadn't gotten a response letter from her, and each day that had passed was making him increasingly agitated. He was planning on sending another tomorrow. But perhaps her letter was taking longer than usual because she was taking time to get out of the house. Good. She _needed _to have more company than that of house elves. He would give Mother another couple days before he wrote again.

He nodded, indicating to Theo that he was thankful for the scrap of information. Though he did his best to keep face in front of his friends, he knew that Blaise and Theo both realized that he worried about his Mother and Father. Unfortunately, due to his probation, he wasn't allowed to have direct contact with his Father and had to rely on Mother for second-hand information. It was all very frustrating.

He was lucky, he knew, to have friends like Blaise and Theo. As distant as they might seem, as pure Slytherin as they were, they cared for eachother like brothers. They sensed when something was wrong and did their best to help in a non-prying way. Bloody Gryffindors were always getting in one another's faces, insisting that everything was important and relevant. Slytherins were selfish in their own way. Gryffindors had their own type of selfishness.

Yes, Draco was lucky. He definitely got the best deal.

* * *

><p><em>Her hands clutched desperately at his wrists. His eyes glinted malevolently as he withdrew one hand from her throat to reach into his robes...<em>

_A compact tool appeared, gripped tightly in his fingers, and he flicked it open with ease to reveal a pointed blade. Her heart beat faster still, quicker than she would have ever thought possible, and her lungs tried to unleash a guttural scream, but her throat was still laboring to recover from the pressure he had been placing on it. He twirled the blade easily between his fingers, watching her. It was almost the same shade as his eyes…_

_Without warning, faster than she would have thought possible, the blade was pressed against her neck. A wide,demon-like grin spread across his face, exposing his white teeth, and he—_

* * *

><p>Hermione woke up at 2:00 clutching her neck, panting, eyes wide in the dark room. Tears streamed down her face silently, running along her temples, soaking her hair and her pillows. Adrenaline pumped through her veins, and her arms tingled with the intensity of it. <em>She fell asleep too early!<em>

She had only lain down in bed two minutes ago. She had been so sure that she would be able to stay awake for those two minutes. She had been _so sure!_ But her breath was coming in gasps now, and she removed her hands from her neck to examine them in the moonlight that was streaming through the dormitory window. There was blood. Just a little. As if she had a paper cut. The sight of the speck of blood on her hand caused a shock of panic to shoot through her, increasing her adrenaline rush. _If she had fallen asleep just a minute earlier…_

It was warm in the dormitory, but she shivered involuntarily and clenched her teeth. It hadn't been as vivid at the other Dreams. It had been much shorter. But one more minute might have killed them both. Fear and shame settled heavy in her stomach, and her head buzzed. Malfoy was going to be so angry with her. One little lapse in judgment. They had been seconds from dead.

The adrenaline didn't settle. Her breath still came quickly. Her fingertips were tingling. There was no way she was going to be able to go back to sleep now. Quietly, she rolled out of bed, conscious every second of how close she had been…how close they had both been… Never again would she lay down even a second too early.

In the bathroom now, she flicked on the lights and looked at her neck. Yes, it looked just like a little paper cut. Only a couple small beads of blood. It was too close of a call. She pressed a piece of tissue to it to soak up the little bits of blood, tossed it in the bin, and slipped on her slippers. Malfoy might very well stay in his room and do Merlin-knows-what, but she was wide awake, and she was going to the Room of Requirement. If she was awake, she might as well get some research done. After all, the more they knew about this, the more likely they were to beat it. And she _desperately _needed to beat it.

The slip-up had raised her awareness of how serious their situation really was. Her bruises were almost healed, and the memory of the absolute pure terror she had felt that night seemed to be fading with them. She could not afford to fall into a comfortable zone.

She knew the way to the Room as easily as she knew her way to Gryffindor Tower now, and the portraits along the way seemed used to seeing her in her pajamas along this path, wand tip lit, hair a mess on top of her head. Like always, she encountered no trouble, and she was soon in the cozy little library. The fire crackled warmly as if it had been there for hours, and the warm glow of the room comforted her. For a minute, she stood in front of the fire, warming herself, calming herself, assuring herself that she would never make such a grave mistake again.

A door clicked behind her, and she turned to see Malfoy sweeping angrily towards her, wearing emerald sweatpants and a black t shirt. She had never seen him in pajamas before. He must have been in a hurry …to come yell at her. Upon realizing this, her spirits, which had oddly risen at the sight of him, took a sudden nose dive. She would have to head this off quickly.

"I'm sorry!" she blurted, hugging herself in front of the fire, and she mentally berated herself. She could have started off with a much better explanation that that. He was right in front of her now, and he looked stonily at her, arms crossed, jaw set, waiting for her to go on. So he _was _going to allow her to explain herself.

"I laid down two minutes early... I didn't think I would fall asleep so quickly," she said lamely. She had no excuse, she realized. She had just royally messed up. _She could have killed them. _And her bottom lip trembled. She raised a hand to brush a strand of hair out of her face, trying to regain composure, and realized she was still shaking slightly.

"Hermione, you could have fucking _killed us_," he hissed, looking down at her. That did it. Her eyes welled up and some more tears trickled down to her chin. Why was it that all she ever seemed to do in front of Malfoy was cry? She sniffled miserably.

"I know." Though she was whispering now, her voice cracked, and her cheeks turned pink. He so easily made her feel humiliated. "I'm so sorry..." and she looked down at the ground, not wanting him to see her in the midst of a major failure anymore. She hugged herself tighter, but then she heard a heavy sigh, shifting footsteps, and he hesitantly pulled her into a hug. She sniffled more. It would have been better if he had yelled at her, but this just proved that they both understood how close they had come to death. He wasn't ranting and raving. He understood how scared she was, because it was _his _life on the line too. She relaxed upon realizing all of this.

She allowed herself to be scared, to cry on his shirt, to feel utterly pathetic for thirty seconds, then stubbornly blinked until the tears stopped flowing. "Thanks," she muttered. He sighed heavily again, clearly swallowing his pride. She was vulnerable, and she wasn't used to it. She allowed herself to calm down a bit more. Draco was perceptive. He had realized this, and he wasn't trying to make it worse like the Old Malfoy would have. She felt her respect for him swell. He cared about her. And she knew that she cared about him.

* * *

><p>Draco had been furious. He had woken to his alarm at 2, heart racing, hand clenched as though it had been holding a knife only moments before, and he had struggled with himself for almost five minutes before he felt like he was back in control of his feelings. Only then had he allowed himself to glace at his roommates' beds, and was relieved to see them both sleeping soundly. He had quietly slunk out of the room before breaking into a very brisk walk, winding through the halls, thinking angrily of all the things he was going to yell at Granger.<p>

_HE _had kept _his _schedule. This was _her _fault!

He had arrived at the room and stomped towards her, fully intending to unleash his fury, but she had stuttered her hasty apology before he could open his mouth, so he had clenched his jaw and allowed her to go on. She did look very pathetic in her baggy sweatpants and t shirt, after all. And who the hell wore their house slippers around like that?

Draco was also very practiced at rolling his eyes. It was one of his favorite ways to show exasperation, and it had become a reflex in some situations. For example, Granger was being ridiculous and crying all over herself again. He wanted to roll his eyes. He felt them start the smooth, perfected motion, but he caught himself and blinked hard instead, and then he had pulled her into his arms.

She was scared. She knew she had messed up. And he was scared too, though he chose to keep it to himself.

It was odd, though, how Granger seemed to possess the ability to shove her emotions away from her after a minimal amount of time. He had seen her do it a couple times now, and he wondered what in the world went on in her head. How the hell had she learned to disassociate herself from her emotions so quickly? He was sure it couldn't be healthy. And there was something very disturbing about it, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

Not only that, Draco remembered that he had seen her do all sorts of strange things. Only days earlier he had accidentally startled her in the Room of Requirement again, and again, she had been on her feet, wand pointing steadily at his heart, faster than he had ever seen anyone move before. No matter what mental state she was in, her wand hand was always its steadiest at moments like that. What the fuck has happened to her that caused those sorts of reflexes?

In his mind's eye, her memory flashed before him. The one she had omitted major details from… when she had killed a man while disguised as someone else, and with a start, he realized he recognized the scene. She had killed a man in the Ministry of Magic. What the fuck was she playing at?

She was at the study table now, and he watched, completely confused. _She had been bawling only seconds ago…_ but now she looked as though she was ready to get down to business, save for her bloodshot eyes.

She certainly was an odd one. He rubbed his chin as he joined her at the table, thinking hard. He would have to ask her about her strange habits and secrets. They needed to be getting to know eachother, after all.


	13. Chapter 12: Everything is Alright

_Once blood has been spilled by each of The Affected during _Somnium Mortalium Hostibus, _the bond will be complete. The Affected will be linked in life and in death. The triumphs of one are the triumphs of the other, as the sorrows of one will be the sorrows of the other. Neither can go where the other is not. _

Hermione reread the words several times. It was the first piece of information they had found in weeks, and it wasn't much to go on. She kept her mouth shut, wanting to fully understand and absorb the words before she shared them with Draco. There was something else that interested her much more written in the corner of the page, and she was trying to ignore it for the time being. It caused her heart to thump unevenly. It was a name that she knew in that familiar untidy letters were intricate, different than they had been in earlier books, with embellishments surrounding the name. _She knew that name very well…_ like an old friend. And it made her very uncomfortable. She warily eyed the name for a second, willing the excitement in her chest to die down. She needed to make sure that she was entirely right before she let Draco know. It would not do to jump to conclusions. But she was eager to share the few sentences that made sense with him.

Finally, she thought that her heart had slowed enough and she had control over her excitement, and she tentatively cleared her throat. Draco looked up from his book, eyes tired, bored, as unenthusiastic as could be, leaning hard on one arm and drumming his quill against the table. "I found something else." Immediately he seemed to perk up, and he reached impatiently across the table and slid the book towards him. She watched his eyes flick quickly back and forth across the page, and she carefully watched his face, wanting to gauge his reaction before she said anything else. She was better at reading him, though he still did his best to keep her in the dark.

"_What the fuck…" _he whispered to himself, then continued, talking to Hermione now, but still not looking at her. "'The bond will be complete,'" he read out loud. "So, what, we weren't actually linked until that night?"

Hermione shook her head. She was glad that he picked up on details quickly. "I don't think that's exactly what it means," she said. "We have definitely been linked the entire time. I think this must be a deeper bond or… or something. I'm not sure. But I haven't noticed anything different since the, uh, incident." She flushed. _The incident_. More like _the time I almost got us both killed. _

He was quiet for another minute, eyes still flicking, reading and rereading. "I think you're probably right," he said slowly. "This other bit makes it sound like I can't feel anything without you feeling it too, or some bullshit like that…"

"Did you read the writing?" asked Hermione nervously, hoping that the name would mean nothing to him. She desperately wanted to research her theory as much as possible before telling him, but she was pleased that he seemed to be coming to the other same conclusions she had. She watched his eyes flick to the corner of the page, and he sneered a little.

"Looks like our friend here was already falling for his girl at this point."

Hermione said nothing. Yes, the fancy lines surrounding the name certainly made it look that way. Did that mean that her and Draco were behind schedule? Were they really trying to _schedule_ falling in love with eachother? Was that even possible? What did the timeline for these things usually look like? How often did the Dreams happen to people over the course of history?

She sighed heavily and closed her eyes for a second. She still had so many questions. Why couldn't someone just write a single book on this topic instead of scattering a couple words here and there?

The fancy drawing of the name seemed to burn imprinted on the backs of her eyelids. She would have to start looking in school records for anything that might help identify their predecessors…just to make sure… She pushed the thought from her mind, purposefully refusing to look at it directly. It was a little personal to her, after all, and she didn't want to jump to conclusions. It was much more likely that her idea was wrong.

In light of the new information, Hermione wondered what would have happened if one of them decided to kill themselves. It was blatant now that they had sealed the bond – if one of them killed themselves, the other would soon follow. It was obviously a stupid idea, something that she would never try, and she knew Draco would never even consider it. It was out of the question, but surely someone had tried it before. If that person had succeeded before both of The Affected had spilled blood, would it have worked?

Hermione frowned at herself and abruptly changed her focus to ignoring the grim thoughts that had been running rampant through her mind. She wanted to find all the answers, but now was not the time to wonder. Now was the time to work diligently. She focused her eyes back on Malfoy to ask for her book back, and found him looking at her, eyebrows knitted together, looking confused.

"How the hell do you do that?" he drawled slowly.

* * *

><p>"Do what?" she asked, clearly bewildered. Draco stared at her, still frowning. He could feel the wrinkles forming deep in his forehead. She had just pushed her emotions to the side again. He had watched her. The stormy look had rested on her face for almost a full minute before a frighteningly impassive look replaced it, her features had softened. It was definitely disturbing. Something was seriously wrong with this girl. She was still looking at him, confused, waiting for him to answer. She honestly had <em>no fucking idea.<em>

"Okay, Granger, we need to be working hard on getting to know eachother, correct?" He might as well just jump into this conversation. She was either going to deny the weird things she did, or she would have some sort of twisted explanation.

She nodded, still watching him curiously.

"What the fuck is going on in that head of yours?" She flushed and looked as though she might open her mouth to retaliate, but he knew he couldn't give her a chance to do that, or they would end up screaming at eachother again. They had been very cordial as of late. There was no reason to ruin it now, but he _did _want some sort of explanation. So he continued, not allowing her to cut in: "I mean, I could do with some specific answers, if you would be willing. After all, I want to know exactly what I am getting myself into here."

It was certainly not an unreasonable request. He knew that Granger would see that, but he also knew that she still had no idea what he was talking about, and he could practically hear her thoughts ticking hard in her head while her eyes narrowed suspiciously on his own.

"I suppose I am willing," she answered slowly. Of course she would be. It would be stupid for either of them to deny the other anything at this point, Draco realized mildly. They needed to work hard to please the other, to get along, to live.

Now he had her attention, and he began with the issue that had been bothering him the most: "Why are you so fucking jumpy?"

She looked both amused and affronted. "I am not!" she defended herself, and Draco was sure that she thought he was teasing her. He raised his eyebrows ever so slightly, keeping his gaze level to assure her that he was serious.

"Oh yes, you are. Don't lie to me. If I happen upon you without warning, you're suddenly on your feet with your wand pointed at my heart. What the fuck is that about, Granger? I've never seen anyone move that fast. I've never seen anyone so constantly afraid of being attacked, or, Merlin, I don't even know what you think is going to happen. One second you're a shaking, blubbering, mess, and the next you have the steadiest hands anyone has ever seen."

He watched as she did that _thing _with her emotions again. Fear flashed across her face, and she had the unmistakable look of someone caught in the act, but it was quickly replaced by her impassiveness, and she sounded almost aloof as she answered, "It pays to be prepared, Malfoy." She said this with an unmistakable finality. He snorted. As if she thought this explained her actions. He wasn't going to let her drop it so easily.

When he next spoke, he made sure to speak in a condescending manner so that she would know exactly how stupid he thought she was being. "Exactly what do you think you're preparing for? Do you think Dark Wizards are going to burst into the castle at any moment?"

She looked pointedly at him, and said nothing. He cringed. "Bad example," he muttered, and went on to amend his previous statement, hoping that she would agree to never bring that up again. Ever. "Do you think the Dark Lord is going to waltz into the castle?" he asked, trying to inject a bit more venom into this statement to make up for his earlier blunder.

Still Granger said nothing, but she continued to look steadily at him, as if thinking, as if deciding what to tell him.

Oh Merlin, that's exactly what she was expecting. She really was bat-shit insane.

"What the fuck do you think the Dark Lord would be coming after you, of all people?" he continued on, wanting her to see how unreasonable she was being. "Granted, you're a mudblood, but you're not a very important one at that. The Dark Lord would probably assume that Potter wouldn't waste his time on you if you got captured or something."

She still hadn't answered. She seemed to be grinding her teeth slightly, looking at him slightly watery-eyed.

"Does this have something to do with you controlling your emotions?" he asked, beginning to understand exactly how messed up in the head this girl was. She still didn't answer, but she looked at him levelly, as if she was still trying to decide what she wanted to tell him. He was going to get answers. He had gone into the conversation with that determination already in place. Legillimency would speed the process along, but he wanted her to tell him on her own accord. So he pressed on, watching her reactions carefully, "I always watch you push your emotions away. It's fucking frightening, Hermione. I've never seen anyone do that before. I've seen people_ hide _their emotions. _I _hide my emotions. But you're doing something different. It's obvious. Somehow I don't think it can be very good for you to just disregard them the way you do."

Granger seemed to come back to Earth. She shook herself and sat up straight, pushed her hair out of her face, and looked at him in a most superior fashion. "Malfoy, I am perfectly okay with what I am doing with my life, and frankly, it's none of your business."

Oh, so _that _was what she thought. Anger rushed through his veins, pulsing hard. _"Like hell it isn't!" _he snarled. _We must not fight… we must not fight… we must not fight… _He repeated this mantra in his head multiple times while simultaneously watching Granger who was beginning to swell with rage. _"I mean," _He paused and took a deep breath, willing his voice to remain calm."We've got to look out for eachother. At least a little bit. Until we know more. Remember, Granger? You die, I die. I have no interest in snuffing it just yet. You _are _my life, and I am yours. Whether we like it or not."

A pained look crossed her face as she continued to stare, calculating, evaluating, frustrating him. Several long minutes passed where his grey eyes were locked tightly on her brown ones. Neither of them looked away. The only sound was their breathing and the crackling of the fire. Why the fuck wouldn't she say anything? Finally, Granger's lips parted, and she inhaled sharply. "I can't tell you everything."

_She doesn't have to, _Draco thought angrily. _I'll find out one way or another. _But despite her increasingly annoying attitude, he waited quietly for her to begin. He would let her have her own chance to explain.

Her voice was strained as she began, "I shouldn't be telling you any of this. You of all people…" she laughed nervously, and Draco granted her with a nasty glare. "But you're absolutely right. You deserve to know if we're… if we're going to be together at all." She licked her lips and looked around the room nervously, as though seeking a last-second distraction desperately. "I have been actively working to destroy Voldemort for the past year." She said each word slowly and clearly.

Draco stared. _Well, duh. _She's best friends with Scarhead. Scarhead needs revenge for his parents death, and he needs everyone to love him and worship him and be all impressed when he destroys the Dark Lord once again. Goddamn Potter. With his saving-people-fetish. Going out of his way to do stupid shit that put people like Draco unwillingly in his debt. He would never get his fill. And dragging Granger into his twisted obsessive revenge plots.

Granger was still watching him for a reaction. "Am I supposed to be surprised by that?" he asked coolly. Did she think he was an idiot?

She looked down guiltily. "I think this runs a little deeper than you might think," she squeaked.

* * *

><p>Hermione fidgeted relentlessly under Malfoy's waiting gaze. What would Harry and Ron think if they knew she was considering spilling their greatest secret to an ex-Death Eater? Things had not gone back to normal with either of them. Ron had stopped screaming at her, but he glared at her across rooms and tables. Harry seemed to be constantly worried and suspicious. They had been working to find more information on Ravenclaw's Lost Diadem, but the conversations were minimal and awkward. Mainly Harry just sat between Hermione and Ron while they all separately flipped through books. It seemed to be all Hermione did these days…<p>

But would it be a betrayal if she were to share a little information with Draco? Malfoy, her partner in life and death. It seemed to be the opposite of Harry's situation… _Neither can live while the other survives… _her mouth tightened at the morbid thought. She had to tell Draco something. He could not go into this blindly. He deserved to decide whether or not he would rather die.

She finally looked up to meet his eyes. He was still watching her, patiently waiting, hands folded in front of him on the table.

"Harry is the Chosen One," she whispered, eyes beginning to fill with tears. Malfoy looked down and snorted. _Did he not believe her?_ Her mouth opened in indignation. "Do you think I'm lying?" she demanded. _How dare he?_ Just as she was trying to open up to him!

"No, no no!" He looked back up at her, suddenly serious, staring deeply into her eyes. "I believe you, Granger," he drawled. "I just think that Potter has the worst fucking luck in the world. It's a good thing he loves the attention."

She frowned at this, but did not try to correct Malfoy. They both knew how that conversation would end: shouting, broken furniture, and tears. "Draco, before I tell you anything else, you have to _swear to me _that this will stay between you and me. Absolutely no one else." She was pleading. It was embarrassing to show weakness in front of him, but he had to understand how serious of a situation it was. She didn't know if he would understand. She didn't know if he would abandon her to die alone when he found out the danger that surrounded her like a cloud at all times. She didn't know if he would tell everyone every little secret that she let spill.

_That's a lie… _Her heart was contradicting her. _She trusted Draco Malfoy._ He would not spill her secrets.

He nodded, promising that he would keep his mouth shut, in an almost bored way. "I don't know if you've paid attention to me at all in the past couple months, but you might notice that I haven't been parading your business around." He rolled his eyes, a move that he always seemed to complete with ease, and leaned back in his chair, watching her expectantly, waiting for her to continue.

"This is serious, though. This isn't some stupid little sleep problem, or some obsession with someone that I used to hate. This is-"

"-Granger, I _understand _how serious you think this situation is, and I assure you, I am looking at this in the most professional manner."

"Fine! Okay!" She fumed for a minute, frowned deeply, took some calming breaths. _It would be okay. She could trust Malfoy. _"Harry, Ron, and I, we have this… mission." She couldn't tell him the details. No one but them and Dumbledore knew. _That_, she was sure, would be betraying Harry and Ron. "I can't tell you exactly what it is, but only we can do it. And it is possible that at any moment Voldemort might see what we are up to… I mean, we've had our careless moments, and there's that thing with Harry never mastering Occlumency…"

She stopped, breathing hard, the full weight of what still needed to be done pressing upon her. Voldemort was still moving slowly, not quite in the open after the fiasco at the school last year. But it couldn't be much longer before he made his next huge move. It was like waiting for a bomb to go off, except she had no idea where the bomb was.

His fingers, which had been rapping lightly on the table while waiting for her to continue, had stopped. Draco looked at her with a pained look. "You're… directly and repeatedly antagonizing the Dark Lord?" he asked, and Hermione was startled to hear unmasked fear in his voice. He was that uncomfortable with the idea? She hadn't even told him half of it. Her shoulders sagged and she looked down. This was it. He was going to choose death over involving himself with her. _The ultimate rejection,_ she mused.

He looked around the room hurriedly, now looking as uncomfortable as she had felt minutes ago. "So you really do… you have every reason to be worried that he might burst into your room…" he trailed off, fidgeting wildly, sitting on his hands now and staring at the table in front of him hard, as if he were reading something off it.

"And that is why I push my emotions away," she whispered, horrified at the death sentence she had just imposed on herself, but she couldn't bring herself to stop talking. "Because… because I need to be able to have a clear head at all times. My mind can't be clouded by emotions. That split second it would take me to hesitate could mean my death."

She looked up at him. He was looking directly into her eyes now. His own were wide, full of unbridled fear, and she sighed heavily. "I wonder how much longer we have until the dreams kill us," she asked the room at large, heavy heart falling quickly to her stomach.

"_What the fuck are you talking about?" _His voice, though whispered, rang clearly through her head, vibrating off the inside of her skull.

"I knew you wouldn't want to be involved in something like this. Even if it's only by association, you-"

"-Hermione, you're such a fucking idiot." He was speaking normally now, though his face will still clenched in terror. "I'm not about to give up so easily. This is all about self preservation."

A shaky laugh escaped her lips, disbelieving, wondering if she heard him right. "So you're not going to give up on this? On us?"

His eyes rolled again, that perfect motion, and he pushed his hair out of his face. His regular gusto was quickly returning. "You won't be getting rid of me that easily, Granger."

* * *

><p>Malfoy made it a point to take everything in stride. He had places to go, things to do, people to see, and dammit, he would not let minor obstacles get in the way of his happiness. He didn't let the fact that he was tied to Granger for life get to him. He didn't let the terrifying Dreams keep him from finding a way to get some sleep. And he sure as fuck wasn't going to let Hermione's terrifying involvement with the Dark Lord prevent him from functioning normally.<p>

But his hands shook slightly as he held a small vial over his slightly-steaming potion in class. _Two drops was all he needed… surely he could add two perfect drops, even with a shaking hand…_

A hand much smaller than his, soft and warm, closed over his own and pulled it back down to the table. Hermione let go quickly, the warm feeling lingered on his cool skin, and he felt himself calming down. "Why don't you give yourself another minute?" she suggested quietly, looking sideways at him. "Did you sleep last night?" she asked in an almost motherly way. The temptation to sneer and taunt rose quickly in his chest but he pushed it away quickly. Sleepiness was causing his dry eyes to itch, and he didn't think he would have the energy to find that fine balance between annoying Granger and pissing her off.

"Not as well as I would have liked to," he grumbled instead. "I had some things on my mind." She flushed, looking slightly guilty, and picked up the vial to add two drops to her own potion. It bubbled for a minute before turning the color of honey.

"You'll get used to the idea… uh… eventually," she mumbled.

Draco didn't think so. Granger might be very involved with the Dark Lord's personal affairs. To what extent, he did not know. But he knew that last year had been hell on Earth for him. He never became used to the idea that he was working alongside the most evil man in the history of the wizarding world. As time wore on, he only became more and more frenzied. There was little chance that she felt better than he had. And now he was involved, once again, by association, with the man that would kill him in an instant without a second thought. After all, he had betrayed the Dark Lord by leaving him at the end of his sixth year…

Experimentally, he held up his right hand. Miraculously, despite the negative train of thought he had been following, it had steadied somewhat. He added two perfect drops of the liquid to his own potion, glad that the tremors didn't mess him up, and watched interestedly as it hissed and turned into a dark, almost glowing green.

"I think this will be a good place to stop," said Granger, running a finger down a page in her textbook, checking the steps they had been completing. "Yes, these will be more effective if we allow them to stew for a couple days now."

"Brilliant," muttered Draco, already packing up his bag. Slughorn allowed them to leave early without questions at this point in their potions, understanding the need for them to stew at odd times, though he had impressed on all of them that this was not a reason to skip class, as they would surely fail if they skipped out and failed to produce their potions on time. Draco and Hermione had gotten extremely lucky that they had only missed the first day. Any other time would have been impossible to make up.

"I'll see you tonight," he said, and he rushed from the room.

Draco desperately needed a nap. He had come to rely on his five hours of sleep, and the past night he didn't think he had gotten one minute of rest. His body was not used to the process of insomnia anymore. But instead of continuing to wind through the dungeons, he trudged up the stairs, again and again, until he was once again at the Room of Requirement.

The news from Granger last night had been disturbing. Very disturbing. Now he understood why her odd behavior had unnerved him so much – he had behaved in a very similar manner the previous year. She had admitted outright that she would not tell him everything, and that bothered him too, but that was something small that he could take control of on his own to understand the situation a little more. Her mind had been hard to see into. It had been clouded with emotions for Harry and Ron, and for Draco himself, but he had gotten a couple glimpses. A snake, twisting in space, the snake that he recognized as the one that was always curled around the Dark Lord's shoulders. A diary, one that he had recognized, causing shame and embarrassment to rack down his shoulders. And a locket on a thin gold chain – one he had never seen in his life, but he _had _seen it in Granger's life… in her memory of when she killed a man…

What the _fuck _was going on with this girl?

There was no good place to begin, but Draco had decided to return to the Room of Requirement, though it had been recently angering him. He had nowhere else to go if he wanted a little privacy, and true to his word, he would keep her odd little secrets safe.

The Room held its usual bookcase, their poorly sorted books in their haphazard piles, but another had appeared. This bookcase was much smaller. He hurried to it, running his fingers down the dusty spines, and discovered that it contained books such as _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts _and _The Potter Biography. _He grimaced. Potter had a biography? Upper lip still curling, he gingerly grabbed _The Potter Biography, _as though scared it might leak some sort of disgusting fluid on him, but he knew it would probably be his best bet to gather information on what exactly the Gryffindor Fools thought they were doing.

Still standing at the bookcase, he let it fall open in his hands to the first chapter: _The Boy Who Lived._ How idiotic. He flipped through it, disgusted with himself, not allowing himself to soak in more than a couple words at a time, but a name caught his eye, a name he had seen embellished on a page the other day, and he paused, frowning, to read the sentence in which it was placed. At that exact same time, the door opened and Hermione walked in easily, her bag slung over her back.

He looked up at her, eyes glowing. This fucking _Gryffindor _was not as innocent as she liked to put was no fucking way she was not completely aware. Not noticing his open glare or the anger that was radiating off him, she dropped her bag by the door and approached him, eying the addition to the room, and greeted him with a hesitant and awkward kiss on the cheek before she crouched to pull a book out of the case.

"Why are there two bookcases now?" she asked, unconcerned, oblivious, infuriating him.

"Why didn't you tell me that you knew who Lily Evans was?"


	14. Chapter 13: All These Demons

"Why didn't you tell me that you knew who Lily Evans was?"

Hermione froze crouched in front of the little bookcase, hand still outstretched for a particularly ratty copy of some nameless book. She felt her heart beat quicken until it was pounding in her ears as she slowly stood to face Malfoy. "I…. I just wanted to make sure…" she began uncertainly, embarrassed, scared of the sharpness in his voice. She flinched upon meeting his gaze. His grey eyes were ice cold, and he was staring at her accusingly, disbelieving, furiously.

She watched his temper visibly flare with her answer, and he threw the book he had been holding to the ground. _"_DAMMIT Granger! _Don't you fucking mess with me!" _he yelled. "Even if you weren't sure it was the same Evans, you didn't think you might want to at least _mention _this to me? Our lives fucking _depend _on our cooperation!"

She trembled. He was so angry. She hadn't thought that he would react so strongly to this. She had only wanted a day or two to verify. And she tried to tell him so: "I just wanted to… to…"

"_FUCK _you, Granger! What other potential information have you been keeping from me?"

She felt the tears begin to prick in the corners of her eyes. She had royally messed up, once again. Why was it that Malfoy seemed able to do so little wrong? Why was she the only one that made the big mistakes? A pressure on her chest threatened to throw her into full sobs, but she tried to hold strong. "Nothing. I've told you everything else. I swear!" Her voice squeaked. She tried to blink the tears away, but he was towering over her, and they swam thickly in her eyes.

"How the fuck do I know you're telling the truth? We're supposed to be in this _together, _and you've been going behind my back with important information! I thought you wanted to live through this!"

"I do, Draco. I promise! It was just that one thing! I just wanted to make sure it was the same Lily Evans. I didn't want to jump to conclusions! We can't afford to make mistakes!" She was going to begin rambling now. She could feel more words wanting to tumble out of her mouth, but she would probably only make things worse, so she clenched her jaw to keep her mouth shut until she could gather her thoughts.

He glared down his long nose at her, breathing hard, eyes so cold they gave her chills. She felt the first tear trail down her cheek, followed closely by many more, dripping freely, and she brushed them away impatiently. She inhaled deeply. She would not let them fight like this again. "I'm loyal to you, Draco. We _are _in this together." She looked down at her toes, bottom lip trembling, breaking his angry gaze. "What can I do to prove it to you?" she whispered. He was silent save for his sharp breathing, and she peeked up at him through the thick hair that had fallen into her face.

His eyes were closed as though he was suppressing his rage, but he wasn't grinding his teeth this time. She perked up a little when he ran a long-fingered hand through his hair. He wasn't clenching his fists, either. She had been paying careful attention to his emotions the past months. She was getting very good at reading him. She knew that these were stable signs that he wasn't_ too _angry. They would not necessarily be at one another's throats, provided she played her cards right. She swallowed a hiccup and dragged her robe sleeve across her face, soaking up the couple tears that had managed to leak out from her eyes and peered up at him through her wet eyelashes.

"I'll think of something for you to prove you trust me," he finally said, opening his eyes, but looking up, away from her. "and I won't be able to trust you until I do." He gave her a hard, calculating look, before turning on heel, his robes whipping behind him, and sweeping towards the arm chairs by the fireplace. Hermione watched apprehensively, not sure what to do, or if she should say anything else, while he produced his flask and drank directly from it, his back to her, staring into the flames.

Should she begin flipping through books like she had originally planned? It would give him a little private time to think. If he was thinking, then he wouldn't be losing his temper with her. Or should she sit with Draco and maybe talk?

Almost instantly, she decided that it was more important at this point that they reconcile, seeing as their lives depended on it, and she nervously approached the other chair and took a seat, curling her legs up under her.

"I'm sorry," she said again, watching him closely, being cautious not to annoy him. Malfoy said nothing. The light from the fire danced on his face, making his skin look as though it had a bit more color, highlighting the seemingly permanent bags under his eyes as well as his high cheekbones. His hair was getting rather long, falling almost directly into his eyes, no matter how many times he pushed it back. At least he didn't slick it back anymore like he had their first few years. Once they figured everything out and got back to a good sleep schedule and ate a bit more, he would be rather handsome.

Drink in his left hand, twirling his wand between his fingers in his right. Hermione sat in silence next to him for what felt like ages, occasionally fidgeting, though she was determined to remain in that seat until Draco said something to her. She knew he wasn't giving her the silent treatment; he was simply thinking hard about something she could do for him to prove her trustworthy, and to prove that she trusted him, but she wanted to be there, to sit next to him, to make sure he knew that she was in this for the long haul, no matter what her actions might say otherwise about her.

His voice finally broke the silence, soft, but it was a clear demand: "Tell me about your mission."

She stared at him. "I… can't…" she began, struggling to find the words.

"_Yes, _you _can," _he interrupted impatiently, rolling his eyes at her. She cringed at his harsh attitude. "You just don't want to because you don't _trust _me. Sounds like a conversation we've just had, doesn't it?" He watched her, eyes still hard, determined that this was what he wanted.

She shivered. This was not a conversation she ever wanted to have with him. Telling Draco would put not only her in danger, but Harry and Ron as well. And if Draco knew too…

Upon imagining the danger she would put Draco in, such an intense feeling of dread shot through her, one like she had never known before. It gripped her stomach tightly, traveled down her legs, and made her toes tingle. She shivered involuntarily. "It's not really my secret to tell, Draco." He had to understand. _She had to keep him safe… _The thought startled her, and she wondered when she began having protective feelings for Draco Malfoy. "It's the kind of secret that could kill you in a second –"

"-You're not telling me because you don't trust me," he interrupted heatedly. "It doesn't matter that it could kill me in a second, or kill you in a second… isn't that exactly what we've been dealing with the past couple months? Or what? Do you not trust me with your life? Because if that's the case, then we've been wasting our time." He was leaning forward in his seat now, head in his hands, looking sideways at her. "That's the deal, Hermione. It's that or we might as well drop dead right fucking now, because if we can't trust eachother completely, then we're fucked."

Hermione covered her face with her hands. He was right… but Dumbledore had told Harry that it was to be kept between them…. But if she couldn't trust Draco, then she was as good as dead right now, and she would be absolutely no use to the mission if she was dead. At least if she told him then she had a _chance _at survival. _Damned if you do, damned if you don't. _Her head was beginning to pound with the effort of logicking her way through this problem. Her best shot was to tell him everything and leave nothing out. The more he knew, the more likely he was to take the situation seriously.

"_Alright!" _Her voice was strained. It had taken an immense amount of energy to push that one word through her mouth, and she dreaded how painful the details would be to get out. She looked through her fingers at Draco. His eyes were narrowed. He was watching her. Waiting for her to begin. "Alright…" she whispered. She took a deep, shuddering breath and, hoping that Harry and Ron never discovered what she was about to do, began the story. With all the details this time.

* * *

><p>She had finished now, and was curled into a ball in her chair, hiding her face between her knees, possibly ashamed that she had told him everything, all the details she had sworn to keep secret, all the laws they had broken, and all the emotions that had kept her in a constant state of hell even before the Dreams began. Horror had ripped through Draco with every word that she had spoke, and at one point he had put a shaking hand to his mouth, worried that he might be sick.<p>

This girl was absolutely insane. _Absolutely fucking insane. _Through half-thought-out plans, risking their lives at every turn, no regard for what might possibly happen to them, all to get to these Horcruxes…

_Horcruxes…_

He had heard the term before, but was unfamiliar with the concept. Hermione had described details that he never wanted to hear in the first place. Details he never wanted to hear ever again. Details that she recited with precision from the books she had stolen from Dumbledore's office. Details that were gruesome and caused the heavy weight of nausea to settle in his stomach.

_Seven fucking Horcruxes…_

A sense of understanding flitted over him, though he was still having trouble comprehending the full extent of any of it. But he still understood enough of it, and he knew that given time he would grasp much more than he ever wanted to. He looked over at Hermione as he took a long, warm pull from his flask. She didn't seem to be crying anymore, though she had during her explanation. A surge of desire passed through him, the desire to protect. It coursed through his veins, caused his heart to beat harder, his breath to come a little quicker, and he felt a twinge of affection for the girl curled up beside him. Or at least, he _supposed _it was affection for her.

The sense of protection and affection did nothing to mask the pure fear that had been pulsing through his being since her finish. The Dark Lord was more powerful than he had ever imagined. Worry for Mother, Father, and himself plucked at his heart, but in a very Granger-like move, he firmly pushed the panic from his mind. He had no idea… absolutely no idea what The Golden Fucking Trio was going through, and he hated that he felt a little respect grow for their struggle. It certainly was not respect for Potty and Weasel as people, but he respected the decision to actively pursue the Dark Lord. Not many wizards would be so … so... So what? So brave? Stupid? Reckless?

Granger went through so much shit. She had certain Slytherin qualities that he was becoming more aware of, and he briefly wondered how things might have been different had she been placed into Slytherin, but quickly dismissed the idea. Though she was also one for self-preservation, she had proven time and time again that she was only too happy to go rushing head-first into a dangerous situation all for someone else, just like every other fucking Gryffindor. _But she was different…_

She was ruthless. She was almost scary, judging by the things she had done all in the name of The Order of the Phoenix. All in order to help her best friend destroy the Dark Lord.

She still hadn't moved from her little ball. Draco stood to stretch, straightening his robes. He would let her collect her thoughts. She was obviously distressed, and he needed a little time to think straight as well. But as he began to walk away, her small, muffled voice made him stop. It was dripping with pathetic, and he felt almost sick again. "You can leave me if you want. I won't blame you if you don't want to get involved."

He frowned at her form on the chair. "What the fuck are you talking about?" he asked, thoroughly confused. Did Hermione think that he was running away right now? Merlin, how many times did he have to assure this girl that he was sticking it out?

She wriggled out of her tight ball, though she kept her knees drawn to her chest. Her eyes weren't red, her face wasn't wet, but she looked utterly miserable, and his heart clenched painfully at the sight, and he approached her, wanting to comfort her.

"I know it's a huge piece of baggage," she said hollowly, as if she had been expecting him to leave and had practiced her speech for it. Another painful clench at his heart. "I actually prefer it this way. You'll be safer without me around."

Draco snorted. She really was being serious. What a fucking Gryffindor, trying to twist every situation to reflect how noble she was, even though it was obviously causing her huge distress. Her eyes were completely empty, though they looked directly at him. She was blocking her emotions out again. Because it was too painful for her to feel while she was telling him to get out while he still could… Her empty eyes disturbed him greatly. They were usually so full of life and, occasionally when she wasn't being thick, knowledge.

And odd lump rose in Draco's throat. She cared for him so much that she was essentially destroying herself to give him a better chance. Too bad that they would both die if he didn't stick with her. She seemed to have forgotten that minor detail.

What did he have to do to get through to this girl? He stood in front of her chair, leaning down, hands gripped on either of the plush arms, and lowered himself to eye level, again the that fateful first position. She looked blankly at him, and he wondered if she even registered that he was still there. "Hermione," he said sharply, clearly, and her eyes seemed to focus on him a bit more. Merlin, you would think _she _was the one that had been drinking. "I'm not going to fucking leave you. It doesn't matter which way you prefer it. You're stuck with me whether you like it or not, so quit being such an angsty little fuckwit." He pressed his lips briefly to hers, then to her forehead, before pulling back to look in her eyes again. She seemed to be becoming gradually more coherent.

"You can't scare me away with shit like that, so stop trying."

She seemed to be coming out of her mental breakdown now, and he trusted that she would be fine, so he turned to continue his route out the door. There was still plenty of daytime left. He had time to get some work done, and possibly a little bit of NEWT studying. And he wanted to have some time to process the huge amount of information that had just been dumped on him. The term was flying by.

* * *

><p>Hermione sat at the Gryffindor table almost a week later, sipping on coffee, taking a few bites of toast here and there, doing a bit of editing on an essay. It was her third cup of coffee, and she still could not find it in herself to perk up. She wasn't sure why she had been so dead-feeling the past couple days. Her schedule hadn't changed. Her and Draco were still getting the same amount of sleep. But she peeked across the room towards the Slytherin table and saw him sitting with Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott, and he also seemed to be wilting a little.<p>

She looked back down at her essay, and the words vibrated on the paper for a second before she could get a good grip on them with her eyes. To counteract her tiredness, she took a huge gulp of her coffee, almost choking on it. Setting her cup down, she started, nearly spilling it all over her parchment. Harry was standing in front of her.

"Mind if we have a bit of a chat?" he asked somewhat nervously, as though he wanted to get the conversation over with.

"Not at all!" said Hermione, clearing her pages from the table and gesturing to the spot in front of her. What did Harry want? Was he here on a friendly visit, or did he somehow know – and her stomach twisted almost painfully – that she had included Malfoy in on their secret? She worked hard to keep the guilty look off her face.

Harry took a deep breath. "I believe you," he said simply. She sighed in relief, both because of this statement and because he didn't immediately tell her she had betrayed them by telling Draco their secret. But Hermione knew he wasn't done, and so she waited patiently for him to go on. "There is no other scenario that makes any sort of sense aside from what you explained to me. There's just no way you would ever associate with the likes of Malfoy unless you had a good reason, and I don't believe you are being forced, so it's really the only thing that makes sense to me… " he trailed off and looked down at his hands nervously.

"Well, it's certainly taken you long enough," she answered coldly. Though he had been trying to have strained conversations with her for a while, they had all been laced with suspicion and underhanded comments. Harry gave her a hurt look to return her glare. A tinge of guilt in her chest was all it took, and she continued in a much warmer manner. "Thank you, Harry. I'm sorry for not telling you guys everything in the beginning. It would have made things much easier."

Harry grinned, recognizing her acceptance. "Yeah, it would have. We could have been helping you!"

Hermione's heart paused for a split second. _'We?' _"Does that mean… that Ron…" she began anxiously, hoping that everything would be going back to normal, but Harry suddenly looked stricken, and she knew that it had been a blunder.

He hesitated. "Ron's still, uh, coming around, 'Mione. But it gets better every day. He misses you, but, well, you know how he is."

She grinned indulgently, remembering their many previous arguments. "Yeah, I do."

Harry began dishing out food onto his plate, and Hermione sat happily chewing on her toast. Harry was talking to her again. Harry believed her. Harry wanted to be friends again. She had friends again. She didn't have to go through this ordeal with Draco alone. She wasn't alone.

"So…" Harry said quietly, looking around to make sure that no one was listening, before he leaned in. "I've been asking around with Ravenclaws about the Diadem. I've been telling them all sorts of stuff about a project I'm working on. Luna knew I was lying right away, but I don't think the others suspected much. I think we should talk to the Grey Lady. Apparently she's very shy. I think you would be best at talking to her."

Hermione laughed quietly. "Yes, I think that would be best. You're too impatient for your own good."

A wide smile split Harry's face, and a pang in her stomach alerted Hermione to how much she had missed him. "Brilliant!" he said, and she smiled back in agreement. It was brilliant. It was almost as if things had never changed. _Except everything had._

* * *

><p>Draco sat alone in front of the fire in the Room of Requirement. It had become his new favorite thinking spot, and he needed to get some thinking done. The fire was dying, so that the light the embers cast around him glowed ominously, mimicking the feeling he had that something bad was going to happen. The uncomfortable prickling had been creeping over his shoulders for a couple days now, and it made him extremely jumpy.<p>

He had two thick pieces of parchment in on hand, glass of whiskey in the other, and he had been rolling around thoughts in his head. He didn't know what to do about, or how to respond to the letters he clutched. Mother's thin, neat writing laced across the pages. The first had been a normal letter, updating him on what she had been doing, how she had been taking his advice, trying to get out of the house more, and how much better she felt. The second letter had been written more quickly, messy by Mother's standards, though the letters were still perfectly connected by shining green ink. It had probably been written last minute, seconds before she sent the owl out, perhaps. The last letter did nothing to sway his feelings of misgiving. Instead, they caused even more alarms to go off in his head.

The second letter explained how Mother had received a letter from Father. About Draco. Someone had told his Father that he had been spending time with a mudblood, specifically the one that had a major part in shutting him in Azkaban. Apparently Father was angry. Who would have guessed? His arrest, along with Draco's turn for the better at the end of last year, had destroyed their relationship with most of the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord, but Lucius still clung to his pure-blood mania ideas. He was a Malfoy through and through.

Mother hadn't sent along the actual letter she had received from Father. It would have been too risky for all of them if Draco had such direct contact with his father. It was dangerous even for Mother to pass along his messages in such a fashion, and Draco was angry with her for involving herself, though he usually loved to hear news of his father. The message she passed was threatening, though, and in direct violation of his probation.

Father didn't want Draco to be in such close contact with Granger. He mentioned everything from beating Draco within an inch of his life when he got out of Azkaban, to even using a well-placed contact to do it now if he didn't immediately desist. Mother didn't agree with all the messages she passed on, but she urged Draco to do the right thing to honor their bloodline.

A tactful way of saying that she also believed Draco should stop associating with such filth.

He wrinkled his nose at the letters. If he continued his work… his relationship… with Hermione, he would probably be disowned and receive the beating of his lifetime. If he didn't, then he would die.

Damned if you do, damned if you don't.

Who the fuck thought it would be a good idea to tell his father that he had been spending time with a mudblood? It was obviously someone at Hogwarts. No one else knew.

He crumpled up the second letter hard, rolling it into a tight ball, and threw it into the fireplace, though he kept the first letter unwrinkled. How the _fuck _was he going to respond to this? He couldn't lie. His father would find out, just like he found out in the first place. He couldn't tell the truth. The idea of Mother and Father disowning him hurt to think about. He loved them, though he knew they would do what needed to be done to keep the family pure.

Would Father send someone after Hermione too? Surely he would. He would want to completely destroy whatever he thought was going on between them. A cold chill ran down Draco's spine. Father was influential, even behind bars. He needed to figure out who in the castle was a rat. _Immediately._

He neatly folded up the first letter that he saved, stuck it in an inner pocket, and leaned back in his chair. He felt like pure shit, and it had nothing to do with the worry-bordering-on-panic that was welling in his chest. Something else was happening with his body, and he had a feeling it had to do with Somnium Mortalium Hostibus.

Hermione would probably be arriving soon. They had a lot to discuss.


	15. Chapter 14: Harder and Harder to Breathe

Hermione trudged through the halls to Potions, sniffling and coughing a little bit. She felt terrible. _I must be getting a cold…_ she thought glumly. It was beginning to get warmer outside. The changing weather always made her a little sick. But her skin was pale, and her eyes were sunken, and her hair was limp, and she was beginning to develop the waxy look that she had become so used just a few months ago. It was worrying her.

She was going to get to class a little early. Breakfast had been long. She had tried to chat with Ginny and Harry, but Ron had simply glared at her until she left, and now she was feeling irritable. The few minutes it took her to walk down would clear her head a bit, and the potions they were working on were becoming more intricate by the minute. It would be a good idea to gather her thoughts first and make sure her mind is in the right place.

Her mind was a mess the past few days. Draco had dropped a bomb on her, casually mentioning that his Dad knew they had been getting close, and he might try to hurt them. She wasn't too worried about it for now. She had dealt with Lucius before. Harry, though, had at least made her life a little easier. She had carefully mentioned that it might be helpful to their research to know more about how Harry's parents originally began dating, and he had assured her that he would send a letter to Lupin. He had tried to question her further, but seemed to accept her explanation of, "I don't understand it myself, Harry."

"Hermione!" someone called behind her, and she cringed. So much for alone time. She stopped in her tracks and inhaled deeply before turning to see who felt the need to interrupt her calming walk. Ron Weasley was jogging towards her, looking grumpy, though oddly eager.

"Hermione, I was hoping we could have a, uh, quick word…" he said, not looking at her, but rather focusing hard on the ground in front of him, frowning.

"Of course, Ron!" she said, her mood improving somewhat. Was Ron going to actually start talking to her again? Would the three of them be able to sit together without working hard to ignore the thick tension between them?

Ron took a couple steps towards an empty classroom and gestured somewhat stiffly. "In here?" he suggested, still not quite meeting her eyes. "I don't want to be overheard."

Hermione followed him in and removed her heavy bag from her aching shoulders, setting it gently by the door before gingerly rubbing the sore spot on her shoulder that the strap had been digging into. She looked expectantly up at Ron, who, it seemed, had finally decided to look directly at her. He was frowning at her, but not as he had been for the past month. It was a hard, piercing look, as if he was trying to figure her out, and he wasn't happy with what he had found. His ears turned red before he finally spoke.

"I wanted to…to say I'm sorry about the way I acted. I was just worried about you, 'Mione, and it made me angry that you didn't seem to _want_ me to worry about you."

She almost smiled. It was obvious that Harry had coached Ron in what to say during this encounter. The words sounded almost foreign coming from Ron's lips. They were calm and well rehearsed, not brash and harsh like his usually manner of speech. But she appreciated it all the same. She knew that it must be difficult for him.

"You've caused me a lot of grief, Ronald," she answered, chiding him. He scowled at her.

"Can you just accept my apology and get over it?" he asked somewhat hotly.

That was the Ron she remembered, and she smiled at him. "Of course I accept your apology!" and she threw her arms around him to draw him into a hug. Ron accepted this enthusiastically, but he managed to gently catch her face with his hand, and was drawing her lips towards his….

They were moving in slow motion now. Full on panic jolted through Hermione. Alarm bells started ringing frantically in her head. _Oh no, oh no, oh no! _This could not be happening… She could not _let _it happen. She was with Draco, albeit somewhat secretly, but it was absolutely _dire _that she stayed with Draco.

She could count the freckles on his nose. This was impossible. It could never happen. _She was with Draco. _Was there any tactful way to dodge this?

_No, _she decided. _There isn't…_ and she had to act quickly, so, at the risk of Ron never speaking to her again, for the purpose of saving both her own and Draco's life, she released him and ducked out of his embrace. He froze, staring at her, eyes pained. She was panting. Immediate disaster averted. Impending disaster inevitable.

"I'm so sorry…" she began, but Ron was already halfway out the door. "Ronald!" she called after him. If she could try to explain to him… If he could just give her a little more time…

But he was gone, and he had looked so hurt and wounded, that she knew things would never be the same between them again. She only hoped that he would forgive her someday. She stared at the doorway for a full minute, thinking. She had wanted to kiss Ron for so long. She used to love him so much, and she had always waited for the day he would come around.

But just now, when he had been about to kiss her, she felt no attraction to him. No desire to give in to just one kiss. Not one cell in her body had been begging her to lean into him. All of her energy had been focused on not letting it happen… and about Draco.

It was weird. When had she stopped loving Ron in a romantic way? When had she shifted her real interest to Draco? There was no definite line. Everything seemed to blur together.

Feeling somewhat miserable that she probably lost a best friend, though also feeling somewhat elated about discovering hard evidence of her developing feelings for Draco, she picked up her heavy bag, groaning as she did so, and slung it over her aching shoulders. She would probably be a little late now.

She quietly entered the room and sidled up to her seat by Draco, muttering a hurried apology to Professor Slughorn. Her eyes scanned the room: Ron wasn't there. Ernie Macmillan looked beside himself with fury, and was loudly arguing with Professor Slughorn. His potion would not be useless without Ron, but it would not be as high of a standard as it could have otherwise been.

"Hey," she said, rather unenthusiastically, sliding into her seat. She wanted to sleep so badly, to sleep right through the cold she seemed to have, to sleep through all the strained relationships, to sleep through the impending sense of dread that seemed to be bothering both her and Draco nonstop, but they still had work to get done. Draco looked up at her slowly, as if his mind was elsewhere, and his eyes seemed to be reflecting that he felt just as bad as she did at the moment. "Any more news about your dad?" she whispered, checking to make sure that no one was paying attention to them.

He slowly, laboriously, shook his head. "No news is probably good news," he muttered as his long fingers neatly lay out the tools and ingredients they would be using. Draco had sent back a letter, mentioning that he and Hermione had been partnered for a difficult project, and telling his mother that he would rather be working with anyone else. Assuring her that everything was alright.

Anything to buy a little more time. If Lucius discovered the lie, Hermione had no doubt that he would attempt to have her tortured… or killed. Punishment for corrupting his only son.

She shook her head to rid herself of the panic that had begun to well up in her chest. _You can deal with him easily, _she reminded herself, and she began to calm down again. Next to her, Draco coughed very quietly, lightly, but the sound alarmed her. "Are you getting a cold too?" she asked. She looked sideways at him. He was starting to look noticeably more tired as well. It didn't make sense. They had been sticking with their schedule very diligently.

"It's nothing," he said, rolling his eyes at her concern, handing her the wings from the beetles he was beginning to chop up.

"Ronald tried to kiss me," she whispered. She felt the need to tell him. He had a right to know. She also wanted to assure him that she was with him and only him. She was loyal. His knife slipped ever so slightly in his hand, but he shifted it back so smoothly that she was sure no one else would have noticed.

"I know," he said simply. "The fucking git."

She paused from her task of grinding up the beetle wings to look at him full on. His face was impassive. He was chopping the beetles with precision and didn't seem to notice her confusion.

"You know?" she asked, furrowing her brow. "But you weren't there."

He sighed heavily, as if she was being slow. "Legilimens, Hermione."

She felt her face turn red. So he was poking around in her head? She huffed heavily and continued grinding the wings, harder than she intended to. She felt him shift, and his eyes were on her now. She ignored him, continuing to grind the wings enthusiastically.

"I won't look again if you don't want me to," he said quietly. He had clearly noticed her sudden attitude.

"That would be nice," she answered stiffly.

Silence between them again. Draco divided up the chopped beetles he had in front of him now, and Hermione passed him half of the ground wings. The wings were a ridiculously fine powder, do to her temper flaring, and he raised his eyebrows when he saw it. If he were to breathe on them the wrong way, they would all blow away.

They tipped their powdered wings into their separate cauldrons at the same time, Hermione stirring counter-clockwise, Draco stirring clockwise. Her potion bubbled for a minute, and changed very slightly to a darker shade of honey. That was strange. _Was it supposed to do that? _ Were her eyes playing tricks on her? Hastily, she pulled out a piece of parchment littered with notes she had made during her research. She breathed a sigh of relief. Yes, completely normal.

"So… it's okay if it changed colors?" Draco asked. He had been watching her, and he looked apprehensive. His must have shifted too.

"Yes," she answered, satisfied. "The colors are different for everyone, actually. Have you looked at anyone else's? The color of the potion is supposed to be a reflection of your soul and personality." She looked pointedly around the room, and watched as Draco stood slightly to scan their classmates.

She knew Blaise Zabini, sitting close, had a brilliant midnight blue potion swirling in his cauldron. It looked like the night sky. Parvati next to him had a potion the color of bubblegum. Ahead of them, Theodore Nott had a pale yellow concoction. It looked far too happy to be any sort of reflection of the weedy boy with stringy hair. Harry sitting next to him had a bright red potion. It looked like melted cinnamon candies. Though Ron still hadn't shown up, she knew that his potion had been a sort of burnt orange. Ernie's was a light violet.

As he sat back down, Hermione started talking again. "I _wish _I could just stand up and look at everyone's potions, and ask them about what they think of the color. It's just so _fascinating. _You can be brewing the exact same potion as the person next to you, but they will turn out two different colors!" Draco snorted. He was probably amused by her rambling, but she couldn't help it. She smiled at her potion. She itched to ask questions, but she would have to wait until the unit was over. It was Unspeakable, after all.

* * *

><p>He lay back on his bed, pillows piled under his neck, staring at the canopy above him. It was almost time to sleep, and he was so unbelievably tired. He had forgotten what it felt like to drag his dead-feeling body around the castle.<p>

A short cough pushed its way through his lips, but he ignored it. The weather was changing. It was obvious that everyone would be getting a little sick at this time.

Also in the room, Blaise was finishing something up at his desk, Theo was packing his bag for the morning. The letter from Mother pushed at the back of his mind, and he tried to wave it away. It would do no good to panic now. He did what he could, and him and Hermione would have to deal with whatever was to come.

"So what's going on between you and that Granger?" asked Theo, startling Draco from his thoughts. He had finished putting his books away and was now preparing his bed. Blaise put his quill down, indicating that he was interested in the conversation. Draco looked hard at him. Theo smirked and raised an eyebrow.

"Nothing," said Draco, doing his trademark eyeball roll, and trying to sound offhand.

Blaise snorted quietly. A monumental reaction from him. "It sure as fuck doesn't look like nothing," he said calmly. "You two have been chit-chatting in potions like old friends for some time now, and you are always off to do quite a bit of 'studying' with her these days." He wasn't accusing Draco, he was simply stating his observations.

"Yeah," agreed Theo, laying back in his bed now. "She seems to put you in a better mood now, mate. Remember when you kept breaking your hand over how much she pissed you off?"

Draco tensed. Goddamn perceptive Slytherins. It was times like these that he wished his roommates were as thick as Hufflepuffs. He could talk to Blaise and Theo if he wanted, though. Theo would never be any sort of Death Eater after watching how it destroyed his father. Blaise thought himself above such pureblood mania, though he was still a bit aloof about his own blood status.

Neither of them had anything to do with his father's message. He was sure of it._ Father's message would be a great way to change the subject! _he thought smugly, pleased with this idea. "You know," he began, in his most expertise nonchalant manner, "My mother sent along a message from my father not too long ago. He's apparently heard that me and Granger are, ah, potions partners, and had some strong words about it."

One corner of Blaise's mouth turned up. Theo was giving him an amused, disbelieving look.

"You're definitely banging her," Blaise mused, and Draco gave him his iciest look.

"I most certainly am not," he said hotly. Theo looked smug, Blaise slightly amused, and Draco glared at each of them in turn.

"You want to, though," amended Theo.

Draco scoffed, rolled his eyes again, and buried himself in his bed. It was 9, now. Time for sleep. "You guys are fucking morons," he muttered. He heard Theo snicker, but then all was quiet, and he was asleep.

* * *

><p>She would be arriving soon. He needed to make his decision quickly. In his hand, Draco held a scrap of parchment, no bigger than his hand. It had nine words on it. Nine words. He didn't know if he should tell her or not. It would undoubtedly worry her. It might scare her. It might send her over the edge into full blown panic. They were both so close the edge these days.<p>

Nine words. They should mean nothing. In the past, Draco would undoubtedly have scoffed at the warning. He used to think he could take on anything. But these days Draco felt so fragile. So vulnerable. It was humiliating. He didn't feel like his usual Malfoy self anymore. To be fair, thought, he had been facing his own mortality for a while, now. He figured it only made sense.

He heard the door knob turn. Toss the parchment in the fire? Hide it in his robes? Hold it out for her to see?

Impulsively, not aware that he had even done it, he crumpled the parchment with one hand and tossed it into the fire with a quick flick of his wrist. Hermione was in the room now, and smiled warmly at the sight of him standing there. She was happy to see him. He felt his body relax a bit at this thought.

But then his mind began racing again. Why did he throw the parchment in the fire? He was such an idiot sometimes. He needed to tell her. She deserved to know.

She approached him, snow in her hair, robes dripping, to join him by the fire to warm herself. She had obviously come right up from the grounds. What the hell had she been doing out there?

"Why are you so wet?" the words came from his mouth were not the ones he had intended to say.

She shrugged, still grinning, pink cheeks, wind-blown hair, taking her heavy cloak off to dry by the crackling flames. "I went down to Hagrid's for a bit." Draco suppressed the urge to wrinkle his nose in disgust. He never liked the oaf. "I played with Fang in the snow a bit before I left. He's a funny dog. He was having fun."

He felt his lips wanting to turn up, to smile at her antics, but he suppressed it. When did he become so weak? He was such a pansy these days. "I got another message today," he said, utilizing his favorite method of jumping directly into the conversation. He shouldn't have thrown away the parchment, but it didn't matter. He had the nine words memorized already. He had read them so many times now. Hermione waited expectantly while she dried herself off with her wand, pulling her dripping hair back into a loose pony tail, tendrils falling in her face regardless of her efforts. He paused. She looked beautiful at that moment, standing in front of the fire, cheeks pink from the wind, snow melting in her hair.

_Stop it, _he forced himself to refocus, ignoring the strange thoughts and feelings that Granger had been bringing him, and he recited the words he knew so well now: "You're father knows you are lying. Please be careful."

Hermione paused her drying process, tilting her head to the side a bit, wrinkling her brow in thought. "He can't do anything to us while we're here," she finally said. "Hogwarts is safe, and he's in Azkaban."

Draco raised his eyebrows. "I think he probably can," he argued. "Even in Azkaban, even without the Death Eaters backing him, he had more influence over people that you know-"

"-I'm not afraid of Lucius," she interrupted, and he glared. Merlin, Hermione was as stubborn as she was thick.

"You should be! He would want to hurt both of us. Possibly kill you. Just because he isn't hanging around the Dark Lord anymore doesn't mean he can't be dangerous-"

"-I wasn't afraid of him when he was a Death Eater, and I'm sure as hell not afraid of him now," she interrupted again. He fumed. "I've dealt with him before, and I can do it again."

Delusional. Stubborn. Idiotic. Draco could think of many words he could use to describe Hermione at that moment, but in the end decided on "You're a fucking psycho." She had done a lot, been through a lot, it was true, but that wasn't any reason not to take a direct warning seriously.

"Your _dad's _a fucking psycho." He glared at her. Yes, his dad had made some bad decisions. He still did. He was still wrapped up in archaic ideas, but he had always been there for Draco, and Draco would be there for him until the end. _Or until he found out about Hermione and disowned him._

"Anyway," Hermione went on, and Draco said nothing, still silently fuming. "Harry got an answer from Lupin about his parents."

"The werewolf?" Draco smirked.

She ignored him. "Seems that James and Lily hated each other for years, but it began to change in their fifth year. He said there was really no visible reason for it, but James was hard to get ahold of for a while, always sneaking off to do Merlin-knows-what, always exhausted… and then suddenly him and Lily seemed to be getting along."

Draco perked up. That sounded like Somnium Mortalium Hostibus to him. But…. his spirits fell again. But Scarhead's parents were obviously dead. There was no way they could ask either of them for help. _They died at almost the exact same time…_he realized, and wondered if the Dark Lord had only killed one of them, if the other would have died shortly after.

"Well," he said finally. "That doesn't do us much-" but coughs started racking up Draco's chest, pushing their way through his mouth forcefully, and he turned away from Hermione to be polite while he tried to catch his breath, hands covering his mouth. The feeling was disgusting. Malfoys don't get sick. He hadn't been sick since he was a little boy, and even then a potion or two had perked him right up. He should probably go see Madam Pomfrey.

Finally the feeling ceased, and he felt as though he could breathe again. "Are you alright?" Hermione asked behind him, and he nodded, pulled his hands from his face, reaching into his pocket to pull out a handkerchief. "I'm fine," he rasped, and he cleared his throat while he wiped his hands on the white fabric.

But there was some sort of color smeared on it, and his heart seemed to stop for a moment. There was blood on his handkerchief. He felt his chest rising and falling, speed increasing. Heart beating fast again, he hesitantly used a clean bit of the fabric to wipe his mouth again.

Blood. Just a little, but there was no denying it.

He had just coughed up blood. Suddenly, Draco's stomach turned, and he knew he was going to be sick soon. Could he make it to the bathroom? He darted towards to door. Hermione was concerned, right behind him, trying to ask what was wrong, but he pushed past her and managed to blurt out "Bathroom!" and hoped to Merlin that she would not follow him.

* * *

><p>Hermione had seen. She had been moving around to him, to perhaps rub his back, offer to get some water. She saw the blood on the handkerchief as he pulled it away from his mouth. She watched his face tense, and she knew that his eyes widened in horror before he pushed her forcefully to run from the room.<p>

She didn't move. Her own blood seemed to run cold through her veins. He was really sick. Another coughed racked up through her own throat, and she felt disgusted, recent events standing vividly in front of her minds eyes. Maybe they weren't sick because of the weather. Maybe they were sick because of the Dreams. At this idea, her breath seemed to pull more quickly past her lips, tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, and her heart beat harder and harder, causing her fingers to tingle.

That had to be it. She racked her brains. She knew a few other students were ill. But they all had high fevers until Madam Pomfrey intervened. Hermione hadn't had a fever at all. Neither had Draco that she knew of. Of course it was possible that the two of them to have different symptoms than the other students… or possibly a different cold than the others… but it was an odd coincidence that they also happened to be the two that were staring death in the face to begin with. It made sense that it was because of the Dreams. It made too much sense.

The door opened and Draco walked back in, looking wide-eyed and shaky. He stopped when he saw her standing there, and she suddenly realized that she hadn't moved since he left the room. It had been several minutes. Possibly longer. She felt the color drain from her face, she knew her hands were trembling, and her mouth was slightly open, and she was breathing hard and fast. She must have looked a fright to him, as he did to her.

"What's wrong with you, now?" asked Draco. Maybe he thought he had scared the hell out of her. Maybe he thought that the news about Lucius had finally sunk in and scared her. Maybe he just didn't have an idea.

Hermione took a deep breath and held it, forcing herself to slow her breathing so she could tell him… if it was true… they needed to start researching immediately. Surely they didn't have much time left if they were beginning to cough up blood. She didn't have time for her little panic attack, and so forcefully, she gulped down the panic in her throat, and looked Draco directly in the eyes.

"Draco, I think we're starting to really die."


	16. Chapter 15: Can't Be Saved

"_FUCK!"_

His voice filled the Room of Requirement, strained, choked, out of control, and deeply terrifying. Hermione didn't flinch when his fist hit the stone. She didn't blink. She wasn't even sure if she was breathing. The castle could have fallen down around her and she might not have noticed. She had watched, wide-eyed, unable to find her own voice, as if he was moving in slow motion. She had watched, unmoving, unresponsive, as his fist had made contact with the wall, watched as each individual bone shattered, watched as his knuckled scraped across the rough stone, watched as blood broke through his skin and splattered the wall and his robes. He was feet away from her, fist still resting against the wall, as was his forehead. His blond hair fell into his face, hiding his eyes from her. He wasn't moving now, save for the rough, deep breaths he was pulling into his lungs. He looked utterly defeated.

Was her heart still beating? Had time stopped? Was this really happening? He couldn't be defeated. _They _couldn't be defeated. They had been trying so hard… working so hard…

Thoughts raced through her head so quickly that she had no time to grasp a single one of them. Her head was swimming. Darkness started creeping in around the edges of her vision until it seemed like she was standing at the far end of a tunnel, eyes on Draco at the other end. And then everything went black.

* * *

><p>"<em>Granger, get the fuck up!" <em>

The words pushed urgently through her consciousness, as though through water. What was happening? Where was she?

"_Get up, dammit! We don't have time for this shit!"_

Time… right. How could she forget? _She had no time_. Her eyelids labored to open. They were heavier than she remembered them being. Draco was crouched over her looking furious, eyes stormy, frowning, mouth thin.

"You can't be fainting all over the place now! We don't have time for this shit! _Granger,_ we need to find more answers _now!" _As if on cue, he turned to surreptitiously cough into his sleeve.

She fainted? Slowly, she turned her head so survey her surroundings. Yes, she was lying on the hard ground in the Room of Requirement, and her head hurt something tremendous. Gingerly, she moved her hand to the painful bump and felt it. It was bleeding slightly. She must have hit it when she fell. Great. Just was she needed – more events to compromise her health.

_Her health…_ Malfoy was right. They needed to get to work right away. She tried to sit up fast, but her body was heavier than she remembered it being, and she felt herself losing her grip on her balance, but a firm hand was suddenly holding tight to her right shoulder. "Don't you even think about falling back again!"

She was so disoriented. She knew it. She could feel her head swimming with confusion, working furiously to comprehend things quickly enough, but it was like trying to move through a fog. Her head seemed to be rolling a bit on her shoulders as she worked hard to hold it up straight, and her eyes seemed to be bouncing around in their sockets without rhyme or reason, but then she felt the back of Draco's hand against her chin, guiding her to steady herself and look into his eyes, and they locked in place, finally able to focus on something.

His eyes… hard, frustrated, urgent, concerned.

"Granger, I can't lift you with my hand all fucked up like this. Can you stand?"

She gave herself a little shake. _Focus! _"Yes…" she managed to mutter, surprised by how weak her voice sounded to her. "Yes, I can stand." His grip on her shoulder shifted down her arm to grasp her hand, and she felt him helping her to her feet.

_Stop it! _ she told herself firmly. Draco was right. _They didn't have time for this! _She swayed slightly on her feet, but she blinked hard. Her thoughts were coming back stronger now, beginning to resonate within her again. Her head was clearing, though she still swayed slightly, and she reached for Draco's other hand to steady herself more. She grabbed onto something wet and warm, and immediately let go again.

An odd sound reached her ears, interrupting her thoughts, and she looked around the room, confused for a moment, before she realized the sound was coming from Draco. He was grinding his teeth as he stared down at something. Her eyes followed his path of vision and she inhaled sharply. Of course he was grinding his teeth. He was probably in an excruciating amount of pain. She had accidentally grabbed his broken hand. Guilt washed over her.

"You really messed up your hand this time," she whispered. It had swollen, purple and puffy skin showing through an almost even coating of blood, which had soaked the end of his sleeve and left a trail from the wall where he had been leaning to the spot on the ground where she had fallen. A short wave of nausea passed through her stomach, but she firmly ignored it.

"_No shit,"_ he hissed, breathing hard through his nose. "Do you mind?" he added sarcastically, as though she should have offered to fix his hand hours ago.

She didn't answer. Instead she pulled out her wand, focusing hard as she cast the spell to heal him. She really should take him to Madam Pomfrey. It looked as though the injury involved more broken bones, bruises, and pain than she was accustomed to, but they didn't have time for her questions.

* * *

><p>His knuckles were still torn, though blood wasn't flowing anymore. Draco flexed his fingers. They were stiff and the bones seemed to be grinding against eachother, but the pain was bearable now, and he knew he had avoided a trip to the hospital wing or an awkward explanation to Blaise. He would have to deal with her substandard healing spells for now.<p>

Hermione was already at the table with an armful of what were surely the most promising books from the shelf. She was muttering to herself, spreading them out. With her dull hair and her hollow eyes, she looked more insane than he had ever seen before. Even back when they were children and he truly believed that she _was _insane.

He was uneasy. Uncomfortable. He was so out of his element at the moment, he didn't know what state he would be in mentally if they ever made it through this. He needed to bring some normalcy back into the conversation. "I can't believe you fucking fainted, Granger," he said condescendingly, watching her closely. She ignored him. So much for trying to get her riled up.

"Maybe we should get someone to help us look…" she suggested timidly, not looking at him as he approached the table. "I know Ginny would… and Harry too…and…" she trailed off sadly, and Draco would have smirked if the situation was not so dire at this point. He knew why she had trailed off and not mentioned the last of the Intolerable Trio. He had almost forgotten how she had rejected the Weasel. It had been most satisfying to watch Weasel get crushed by the girl he had loved for seven years. It would be even more gratifying when the Weasel realized it had been for Draco Malfoy.

But he thought that Hermione was wrong about the Weaselette and Potter. "They can't be a part of this," he said harshly to her, sitting down at the table as she did, and she looked up at him, eyebrows knit, confused. She had trusted them with so much. Fucking Gryffindors could never work alone. "We would waste too much time trying to explain things to them. And Potter, the self-centered little git that he is, would immediately want to know details about his parents that we just don't know. It would be a huge set back."

Her face fell, and she nodded sadly. She knew he was right.

"Right…" Her voice came back stronger now, with more confidence. "We need to get through these books as fast as possible. We won't be able to read everything, but the more we get through…" He finished the thought in his own head. _The more we get through, the better chance we have_. Desperation began to pull in the back of his throat, threatening hysteria, and his hands began to shake slightly. Quickly, before Hermione noticed, he sat on them. She seemed oblivious as she continued, "Keep an eye out for James Potter's writing. He and Lily obviously lived through this at school, so he might be able to lead us to more important information."

The next couple hours passed slowly. Neither of them said anything. The only sound was the crackling of the cheerful flames, ignorant to their suffering, and the intermittent coughing from each of them. The second hand on Draco's watched seemed to creep around the edges in slow motion, pausing for longer than it normally would, taunting him. He eyed it every now and then, angry with its behavior, though relieved that time seemed to be slowing the closer he came to death.

He flipped through the pages, scanning words for something recognizable or somehow related to their oncoming death, eyes flitting around the edges of the pages watching hopefully for the untidy scrawl that had belonged to James Potter.

He didn't know how many books he had gone through. He knew that he temper was rising, his right hand was stiff, and it ached every time he flipped through the pages, but he powered on. It must be very late at this point. His eyes felt gritty. It was far past his bedtime. He was so tired, so worried, so worn… He almost missed it…

But he was moving slower than he might have otherwise, and his eyes had time to focus on the thin writing, that seemed to be lighter, less energetic than the previous writing they had come across:  
><em>How can you force yourself to love someone?<br>_Even in writing, the words ached with a hopelessness and desperation that Draco was so very well acquainted with.

Eagerly now, energy revived, he sat up straighter, eyes focusing hard on the page the writing was on. His brain seemed to stumble over word after word until he found the sentence he was searching for:

_Even with closely monitored schedules and cooperation between the Affected, if Love has not been found between the Affected, then both will die. The process is slow and painful. How long this process takes is uncertain, but once physical illness becomes obvious, one can be sure that not much time is left._

Draco looked up at the ceiling, practicing controlled breathing through his nose, eyes rolled up in , they already suspected as much. This bit of information was completely worthless to them. They needed to… to what? Researching was only bringing them in circles. Merlin, it didn't look like James Potter was having much more luck than they were. How the fuck had he managed to survive?

What a huge fucking waste of time. They were going about this all wrong. He was so fucking tired of the books and research that got them nowhere. In the beginning it had helped, undoubtedly, but everything they seemed to see lately just said that if they couldn't love eachother, then they were doomed.

James Potter's writing just about summed up his thoughts on this. _How the FUCK can your force yourself to love someone?_

Exasperated, he pushed the book across the table to Hermione, who had noticed his suddenly odd behavior, and was watching him eagerly, clearly hoping that he had found a solid answer.

He watched, annoyed with himself, with the fucking useless books, with the older Potter. Her eyes moved quickly over the words several times, each word draining the hope from her eyes. He hated doing that to her. He knew he cared about the eccentric frizzball. But it was obvious that caring wasn't enough. _Why couldn't it be?_

He would _never_ have,in one, or ten, or a million years, thought that he would be able to sit in the same room with Hermione Granger, Mudblood Extraordinaire, willingly, cooperating, sharing moments of triumph and defeat.

_Why couldn't it be enough? _

"At least it confirms what we suspected," she said quietly, disappointment etched in her face.

Draco said nothing, but dug in his robes for his flask, the need for a drink suddenly borderline desperate. His father had a connection in Hogwarts. The connection had been watching them. If the connection was close enough with his father to be writing letters, then it stood to reason that they were capable of ruthlessness as his father had been. And now he was dying alongside Granger. It was overwhelming, and he tried to wipe the tension from his face with his free hand before downing a good portion of his drink, closing his eyes, enjoying the burn that purged his throat from the hell it had been through the past few hours.

As he was screwing the cap back on, Hermione made a small noise. He looked at her. She had been watching him, obviously concerned. "What?" he asked coldly, raising an eyebrow.

"It's just… I don't really think that now is the time. It would be best if we had a clear head for-"

"-For WHAT, exactly, Granger? Because we have made no fucking progress for days and days. These little paragraphs we keep finding are hidden in hundreds and thousands of pages of text, and they aren't telling us anything _we don't already know anymore!_ As if that wasn't enough, my father apparently has some sort of psychotic friend who has been _watching us _and would _not hesitate to hurt us_ if we don't stop our meetings, and you seem _completely unconcerned by this fucking threat!"_

He was breathing hard, body temperature rising with his anger, blood boiling. He wanted to see her cower. He wanted to see the fear flash across those eyes that he knew so well. But infuriatingly, causing pressure to build in his chest so that he thought he might explode, she slowly stood, leaning on her hands across the table so that her eyes were inches from his, and he saw no fear there. Simply fury was flooding her body, and her eyes gave him an oddly electric feeling. His adrenaline pulsed.

They stared angrily at eachother until she finally spoke, calm despite the lightning behind her eyes, each word clear and quiet. _"What other choice do we have? _If you have an alternative idea, I would be delighted to hear it."

He glared at her, his bubbling blood beginning to calm itself despite her ignorance, though the anger still coursed strong through his body. _Who knew that Granger was such a confrontational person? _He wanted to hate her almost as much as he wanted to love her. He wished he could go back to the days of taunting and cruel jokes. But he also wished to live. He was stuck in-between the two extremes. He couldn't seem to do one or the other.

_How do you force yourself to love someone?_

She was sitting down now, though her eyes still flashed angrily, breathing hard through her nose, she spoke again calmly, as though she was forcing herself to control her temper. He knew the feeling only too well. "Maybe we should just try talking to eachother. Bouncing ideas back and forth. Since you don't think the books are getting us anywhere."

"They _aren't _getting us anywhere," he replied shortly, but she said nothing in response. The uncontrollable flare of anger was still ebbing away, and he straightened his robes in a contemptuous manner, conjured a couple clean glasses, and poured some whiskey into each. He needed to get back into his own comfort zone.

Bitterly, he watched as she took her own glass for a sip, despite the fact that she had just attempted to lecture him. What a filthy hypocrite.

He leaned back in his chair and took a large gulp. Fucking Granger was always pissing him off.

* * *

><p>Hermione Granger liked to think of herself as a sensible person. She was clever and logical, and was usually very good at solving problems and answering questions. She had prided herself on her abilities for years and years.<p>

But now she sat across from Draco Malfoy, her magical Mortal Enemy, the man that had tormented her for years, the man that she had to love or die trying, and all she wanted to do was pull her hair out and scream. Why had her life taken such a drastic turn? Why had those dreams come to her and him, and not two of the other thousands and thousands of wizards in the world? There was still so much she wanted to know, but she thought he must be right; anything else they learned at this point would not help them solve their problem. The only thing that would was (and she cringed thinking on it) love.

James Potter's writing seemed imprinted on her eyelids as she blinked.

_How can you force yourself to love someone?_

How had he done it? How had Lily come to love him? There were too many questions that she knew she would never have the answers to, and it ate away at her subconscious, begging for answers. She took a great gulp of Fire Whiskey, pushing the burning fluid past her throat.

She had only just gotten it down, enjoying the warmth spreading from her stomach, when suddenly the door to the Room opened gently, and they both turned, wide-eyed. Theodore Nott stood in front of the now-closed door, long stringy hair hanging in his face, eyes dark, staring at them, wand held down at his side.

"Theo?" asked Draco, clearly surprised. Hermione felt her blood grow cold. Something was very wrong with this situation. How had he known where they were? Why did he feel the need to find them at such a late hour? She had never spent much time around the boy, but his eyes were dark, clouded, unclear. The opposite of the bright yellow potion he had been brewing in Slughorn's class. _Something was very wrong…_

"I followed you once, Draco." His voice was slow, even, dark. A chill ran down her spine, and he continued. "I followed you here a long time ago. You'd been coming sneaking off so often. I was told to see where you were up to. I know you've been meeting with her. He knows you have, too. It was just a matter of planning when to make my appearance."

Hermione's heart beat erratically as Draco stood, taking a couple steps forward, though much distance still remained between the two childhood friends. His steps were even and measured, and his right hand was shoved hard in his pocket, and Hermione knew that he was gripping his wand tight. Theo's eyes flickered towards Hermione, pausing on her. _Theo had been talking to Lucius… Draco's old friend had been spying on him…_

"Why were you planning to come here?" Draco asked calmly, as though they were in their dorm and not having an unexpected meeting in the room that had so diligently protected Draco's secrets the previous year. His voice was still so even, but Hermione could feel the coldness, the electric charge coming from him. He knew he had been betrayed. He was furiously trying to remain calm.

"I'm under your father's orders to stop these meetings. This is not school work, Draco. Something sinister is developing between you and _the mudblood, _and it must stop _now._ I must do whatever I can._"_

* * *

><p>It was Theo. It was him all along. Numb disbelieve shook Draco to the core. Theo. They had been friends for years. Since before Hogwarts. He had trusted him all those long years. He had thought that Theo was determined to make his own path… to put some distance between himself and his Death Eater father. He had thought wrong. The man standing before him now stared blankly at him, unfeeling. He felt no remorse for being there. He knew he was going to hurt Draco and Hermione, and he felt nothing about it.<p>

Another chill ran down his spine, freezing him to the bone, closely followed by a surge of anger. Theo had spat the words, not unlike Draco had done years ago, but times were different now, and _mudblood_ did not hold the same amount of hate for him as it once had.

Hermione hadn't made a sound behind him, though he suddenly felt her beside him at his elbow, and she breathed in sharply, as if she had just come to understand something. _"Sit down," _he hissed at her, his eyes not leaving Theo, who was still holding his wand at his side. She ignored him. The idiot Gryffindor was going to get herself killed now. He did not relax his grip on his own wand, still in his pocket. "Dammit, Hermione,_ sit back down." _She shook her head ever so slightly.

"What are you going to do, Theo?" he asked coldly, deciding to deal with Hermione in a minute, masking the anger that threatened to spill over into uncontrollable rage at any moment. He had slept in the same room as him for years. They had worked together and talked together. _He had trusted him._

Theo raised his wand to point at Draco. "I'm going to do what needs to be done. For the greater good." Draco was pulling his own wand out of his pocket, but he could already tell he would be just a fraction of a second too late… Theo had the upper hand…

But the spell was never finished. Quick as lightning next to him, Hermione had whipped out her own wand and wordlessly disarmed them both before stunning Theo. Draco watched both their wands come easily to her outstretched hand, and she quickly strode forward to his still body. _What the fuck was she playing at? _Did she not think he could have dueled with him? Did she not think him capable?

"_What the fuck is your problem?" _he furiously demanded. "Hermione, what the _fuck _did you just do?" She was binding Theo's body in thick ropes now, ignoring Draco. That idiotic little girl was trying to get herself killed. _She should never have interfered_. He angrily caught up with her, grabbed her by her shoulder, and forced her to whip around to face him. She would not get away with this. Fucking Gryffindors thought they were the only ones that knew how to fight, and that they were the best at everything. He needed to set this straight right now.

But her brown eyes pierced into his grey ones. "You _idiot! _He's under the Imperius curse!" Draco stared at her. Anger left his body, again replaced again by the cold numbness. She didn't stop there. "You saw his eyes before I did! What the hell did you think was wrong with him? You _idiot! _You almost hurt him! He might be able to tell us who put him under when we wake him up!"

She looked as though she was struggling to hold back more words, but her eyes flooded with panic, and she turned fast away from him, wordlessly conjuring a bucket as she did so. The wands she was holding clattered to the floor, and she brought her hands to cover her mouth. Horrible sounds were coming up from her throat, and to Draco's utter horror, she fell to her knees and blood poured from her mouth, splashing into the bucket, coating the sides, red, gleaming, the most disturbing thing he had ever seen. She hadn't moved her hands from her mouth in time. It dripped horribly between her fingers, running down to her wrists.

If Draco were to ever faint in his life, it would have been at that precise moment. He felt himself pale. Cold sweat came from nowhere, and his stomach churned quickly, threatening to spill its own contents at any second. He didn't want to watch. He wanted to turn, but he couldn't move. He suddenly felt very cold. Miraculously, though he swayed on the spot, he managed to hold himself steady.

She wretched, she sobbed over the bucket, tears mingling with blood, blood staining her teeth and her lips, running down to her chin, and he did nothing. They had gone from blood-tainted coughs to full on vomiting blood in only a few hours time. _How many more hours did they have left?_


	17. Chapter 16: Tonight, Tonight

The stone floor had bruised her knees, she could tell, but she didn't do anything to stop the pain. She had stopped vomiting now, but was still sobbing. Her chest ached and her stomach was cramping and her throat felt raw and slimy. She was still kneeling before the bucket, the metallic taste of blood in her mouth, disgusting her, making her want to be sick again. Feverishly she tried to spit the taste out into the bucket. Her hair had fallen forward, her hands were gripping the edges of the bucket, and she could easily see that they were gleaming red in the firelight as well. They were also shaking violently. So violently that she was worried she might spill the bucket, and she knew that seeing all that blood creeping across the floor would probably make her sick again.

A cough sputtered up, bringing with it more of that vile taste, and she gagged, though she was determined to be done with this horrifying experience. Slowly, tensely, she forced herself to release her grip on the edges of the bucket. Still shaking, still covered in blood. All she could think about was how badly she wished she could clean up, and she eyed her wand, which had rolled a little ways away from her, but she didn't want to touch it. She didn't want to move. She was terrified of spreading the blood. Of getting it on the handle of her wand. In her mind, it would taint it.

After a minute of her panting, sobbing, she became aware that someone else was breathing very hard behind her, and the sudden realization of what had been happening before her episode hit her like a brick wall. Lucius… Theodore Nott…Imperius curse…

"D…Draco?" she managed to say. Her voice brought up more of that terrible metallic taste with it, and it was hoarse and strained, unlike any sound she had heard before. She felt as though she had hit rock bottom. But _everything would be better if she could just get the blood off of her,_ and she needed his help. She didn't want to spread it…

A couple footsteps sounded from behind her, and she heard Draco Malfoy crouching beside her before she saw him. His face was pinched, disgusted, as if he would rather be looking at anything else in the world other than Hermione Granger covered in blood and tears, the picture of helplessness. "Can you please… clean me off?" she croaked desperately, pleading with her eyes. She needed to be clean. Fear was beginning to rise in the pit of her stomach now that the initial experience was over, and she desperately wanted to be rid of all the evidence so that she could pretend this never happened.

He reached over to grab his wand she had dropped earlier, wrinkling his nose, distaste written all over his face, clearly disgusted with his proximity to the mess. With a quick flick, he vanished the bucket, and Hermione sat back on her heels as he siphoned the blood off of her trembling hands, face, robes, hair…

No, she could not think about what had just happened. They had too much to do, and they had so little time. That much was evident. _Five seconds to control yourself…_ she told herself, and she began counting as Draco stood back up to observe her crumpled form on the floor.

_One… _She was sure she still looked like a mess, eyelashes wet, face swollen from crying.

_Two… _She could really use a drink. Anything to wash that terrible taste out of her mouth. Spitting hadn't done nearly enough…

_Three… _Knees shaking slightly, body weak and drained, she hauled herself to her feet and began towards the table, her eyes on her unfinished glass of Fire Whiskey.

_Four… _She had to grip the glass with both hands to get it steady enough to bring to her mouth, and she held the liquid in her mouth for a moment, welcoming the burning sensation, purging her mouth of its past tastes, before she downed the entire glass.

_Five…_

Hermione pulled her long hair, still a little damp at the ends from Draco's cleaning, into a pony tail, gave herself a little shake, and turned to look at the bound, unmoving body of Theodore Nott. "We won't know if he is still under the Imperius Curse or if he can tell us who cursed him in the first place until we wake him …" she said thoughtfully, and turned to Draco for his reaction to this.

Draco was still standing where her 'episode' had taken place, paler than she had ever seen him, mouth open slightly, wand held limply at his side, hands shaking slightly. _"What the fuck is wrong with you?" _he asked, horrified. "You just threw up _straight blood, _and now you're acting like _nothing happened. _What the _FUCK?_"

She didn't blink. She ignored how he had just reminded her of the blood, and held back a shudder. Why was he complaining? They had a lot of things to clear up, and it looked as though they only had a few hours to take care of it. "Would you have preferred I lay on the floor crying for our last few hours of life?" she asked coldly.

Just a few long steps was all it took for him to be standing in front of her, and he bent slightly at the knees to look into her eyes, to survey her face. "Merlin, Granger, you're really fucked up in the head," he muttered after a minute, and a red hot flash of anger shocked her bones, but she quickly pushed it aside.

She gave him her best patronizing look. The seconds were trickling by, and here was Malfoy, wasting their time. So she decided to ignore him. "I think out best plan of action," she began, bringing her bossy tone into the conversation, trying to show him that he was not going to distract her from their goals, "is to question Theo, if he will answer us, and then we can go to the source to end this… if we have enough time, and then…" and then what? Wait for the rush of death? Then what exactly was the point of confronting whoever was taking orders from Lucius? They were about to die anyway… was there a point in bothering with this mess?

Hopelessness encircled Hermione's heart, heavy and black, stealing her breath and energy. She had been working so hard the past few minutes to detach herself from the situation. But now, she was suddenly very aware of how hard it was to ignore the fact that she was staring Death in the face… no matter where she turned. Her eyes began to tear up. _Merlin! _She turned her head so Draco wouldn't see her fear, sat in what had previously been Draco's spot at the little table, and downed what had been left in his glass. So what if her brain was affected by the alcohol? What did it matter anyway?

"_Hey," _Draco said sharply, and he leaned down to look her in the face. She returned his gaze miserably. She'd had so many mood swings in the past hour, as if she was cycling through them as quickly as possible to make up for the feelings she wouldn't get to experience after her last breath left her. "Hermione, we aren't doing this all for nothing." He took up more of a businesslike tone, now, as if to make up for her crumpled spirits. "Based on how fast our symptoms are progressing, I am guessing we have 3-4 hours left. First, we are going to question Theo. Then, we will act on any information he gives us. We will allow two hours for this. Next, we will come back here and document _everything _that's happened to us. Do you understand?" He was speaking assertively, not leaving her room for argument, and this seemed to have a calming effect on her poor overworked body. At least Malfoy was able to take control of the situation.

And he was right. They needed to write down every little detail that they remembered. Every feeling they had felt. Every time they had been calm or scared, every detail of every dream they had and when they had it, every embarrassing moment… She flushed, remembering their few shared kisses. He was absolutely right. They needed to help the next set of students who had nowhere to turn, and they had to hope that those students got as lucky as Lily Evans and James Potter had been.

They also had to figure out who in the school was helping Lucius. Any little thing to stop hatred from spreading.

It was time to question Theo.

* * *

><p>She was an absolute mess, but Draco could see some of the color returning to her cheeks. Now that she realized what they were doing had a purpose, she was beginning to liven up. He swiftly left her, heading for the body of his friend, pulling out a handkerchief to cough into as he went, then folding it up again to hide the blood that had appeared. He had to pretend it wasn't there. He was going to ignore the fact that Hermione Granger had just vomited blood everywhere, that he was coughing up blood every now and then, because he did not want to become as hopeless, sad, and broken as the brown-eyed girl behind him had become.<p>

But somehow she had already retrieved her wand and had reached Theo before him. Okay, so maybe she wasn't as broken as he thought… maybe she just needed a couple minutes for the mental breakdown he had been expecting. Granger was such a fucking freak.

"_Rennervate," _he heard her mutter. Guess they weren't going to discuss what to ask him before him. Gryffindors were so rash.

Draco reached Hermione, who was crouching by Theo's bound body, just as he began to blink his eyes open. They were still dark, clouded, unfamiliar. The sign of an imperfect Imperius curse. When done correctly, of course no one could tell what was going on. This would make it easier for Theo to resist it.

Why the hell hadn't he noticed his eyes when he first came in? It was so obvious now, and he felt like a true idiotic Gryffindor, rushing into a situation without taking the time to think about what was should have been_ him_ that understood at once. He had seen the Imperius countless times before.

Hermione had opened her mouth to begin what was sure to be a terrible interrogation, but if Theo was trying to fight the curse, then it might help if someone more familiar to him was trying to coach him to speak, and he bent down quickly to elbow Hermione. She closed her mouth, but looked extremely affronted. Draco ignored her.

"Who put you under, Theo?" he asked quietly, leaning over to search his friend's eyes. Dark and clouded, though they flickered back and forth between Draco's own. Theo's mouth had opened, but he had not made a noise yet. There was no doubt in Draco's mind now. He was doing his damned best to fight the curse, but he couldn't quite throw it off. Whoever had cast it had done it well, but they weren't an exceptionally powerful wizard. This particular curse was extremely average.

"We just need a name," he said, not looking away from his friend.

An odd guttural noise escaped Theo's throat, he was struggling so hard, his eyes squeezed shut, and he managed to grunt, "_The weasel!"_

And then three things happened at once: the most intense combination of anger and confusion filled Draco, the curse visibly broke, causing life to rush back into Theo's eyes, and Hermione went limp and fell into a sitting position. _What…the… fuck…_

"_No…" _Hermione's whisper broke the long silence that followed. _"That's impossible…"_

Draco removed the ropes from him, angrily, almost slashing his friend in the process. Theo sat up slowly, unsteadily. "Yes," he said, coldly, anger dripping from his voice. "The fucking Weasel got me after Potions the other day, the class that he hadn't shown up to. "

"Ron was… was trying to _kill _us?" Hermione was still whispering, horrified, though Draco said nothing. All of his energy was focused on keeping him there. He wanted to rush from the room, burst into Gryffindor tower, and curse that little fucker to oblivion. But he needed to hear more. It didn't quite make sense.

Theo looked startled. _"Kill _you? Oh no… my orders were simply to curse you guys up a bit… Draco a bit more than Granger… and scare the hell out of you…"

Draco found his voice, and strained to keep it even, impassive. He needed to control himself. He was so close to losing it. "But… but you said my father…"

Theo shook his head slightly, not taking his eyes off of Draco. "I think that was just a scare tactic…"

His mind was rushing with thoughts. The fucking Weasel… there was no way he could be working for his father… his father who hated Blood Traitors as much as Mudbloods… his father who had tried to rip the Weasley family apart… Even if the idiot has approached Father, there was no way in hell he would have ever listened to a word he said. And if Theo had been Imperiused to hurt Draco more than Hermione… This was all some idiotic scheme cooked up by the Weasel and Weasel alone.

And it had happened only a couple hours after Hermione had turned him down… That settled it. The Weasel had been dabbling in things he had absolutely no understanding of. Had he known of the letter Draco had received? Or had it just been dumb luck?

Hermione still looked utterly confused. She hadn't moved. She was staring at Theo with pleading eyes, as if begging him to say that it wasn't true.

Hermione had killed a man. Potter had tried to use the Cruciatus curse on Aunt Bella (Draco shuddered upon remembering his crazed aunt), and Weasley had Imperiused Theo, seemingly for revenge purposes. Those fucking Gryffindors weren't as noble as they all thought they were. They were all a bunch of fucking idiots… except perhaps Granger, who wasn't as Gryffindor as he had always thought her to be.

Theo was looking between them confused… Hermione looking horrified, pale, shaky, both an aftermath of her being sick, and from hearing that one of her best friends, or ex best friends, had been trying to hurt her. And Draco knew that he was radiating fury. "Theo, leave now," he said, his heart beating fast. He was going to curse Ron Weasley to oblivion for his idiocy.

Theo hesitated, confused, clearly not understanding what he had walked in on or why he had been ordered to do what he did.

"I will take care of this," Draco snarled. "Tell no one what has happened. We will discuss it later!" And Theo scampered from the Room of Requirement, recognizing Draco as being in one of his moods, and knowing better than to challenge him. But of course Draco _wouldn't _be talking to him later…

Hermione hadn't moved yet. "I can't believe… Ron…" Her eyes were filling with tears now. Draco hauled himself to his feet, bones aching, muscles screaming, trying to ignore how worn his body felt, and was now pacing in front of her. "Has he really gone to… to that side…?"

"Dammit Hermione, don't you get it?" he yelled, breathing hard. He just needed to control his thoughts for a minute. He needed to talk calmly to her about this. They needed to decide on a course of action together. He looked at her. She was staring up at him, eyes filled with tears, glistening in the firelight, though none had fallen yet.

He continued, "That fucking Weasel had no idea what he was doing. He didn't talk to my father. He was just trying to scare us apart. Fucking jealous idiot… he had absolutely _no _idea what he was doing. It was a complete coincidence that he had mentioned my father… he must have thought it would scare me away from you…"

Wincing with the effort, she pulled herself to her feet now, eyes still swimming, to look at him directly. "You really think that?" she asked, voice wavering slightly.

Merlin, he had to break down every single little thing for this girl, didn't he? "It's obvious, Granger. Look at the facts. Now the only question is, what are we going to do to the little fucker?" He looked at his watch. The second hand seemed to be going much quicker than it had in the past, and he started. How had an hour passed? How long had Hermione's mental breakdown lasted? How long had it taken him to free Theo? How long had he been pacing? _Fuck!_

"We have an hour!" he shouted, exasperated, running a shaking hand through his hair. His hands hadn't stopped shaking. He paused and held them in front of his face. They trembled hard. _Fuck! _"Maybe _less _than an hour," he amended, trying to keep the horror from his voice.

Comprehension seemed t be dawning on Hermione. "But then… he was only trying to protect me – "

"-Yes, Granger," Draco interrupted impatiently. "He was trying to protect you by trying to _hurt _you."

He watched the cloudy look come over her face. _Finally she was understanding what an idiot he is…_

"I don't think we need to do anything," she said levelly. He gaped at her, disbelieving. Was she fucking serious? She didn't want to push Weasel back a little bit? Tell him what an idiot he is? "I think…" her voice wavered again, but he watched her swallow, and when she spoke it was much stronger. "I don't think we need to do anything. It will waste time that we could be spending on our, uh, documentation."

'Documentation' was an oddly nice way of putting it. As opposed to 'last words'. Draco snorted.

She continued, "I want to have time prepare explanations for everyone." Her voice was completely broken now. "To explain why…"

This time a couple perfectly shaped tears did fall down her pink cheeks, but she hastily brush them away. The look she gave him was so helpless, so pitiful… Draco felt a giant tug in his chest, and his anger seemed to drain only to be replaced by pity. Pity for Hermione, pity for him, and pity for anyone else that would ever find themselves in the situation that they were in. And he stepped forward to gingerly pull her into his arms. She didn't resist, but buried her face against his chest. Merlin, this girl was the most annoying person he had ever met, but she certainly knew how to pull at his emotions. He would have reveled in Broken Granger years ago… but he did care about her now.

_Too bad caring wasn't enough._

* * *

><p>Hermione sniffled, face pressed against Draco Malfoy's chest, listening to his heart. She had no way of knowing, really, but weren't hearts supposed to beat a little stronger than that? It seemed to flutter here and there, not quite a steady rhythm. There was no way to be sure how much time they had left. They had better get to work. Reluctantly, having enjoyed the physical comfort, she moved to step back from him, sighing heavily, and then headed to the table, bones creaking, begging her for rest. She hadn't slept in so long, but soon she would have all the sleep she needed…<p>

And so she waved her wand, replacing all the books they had so desperately torn through the past weeks, and drew a large amount of parchment, quills, and ink from her bag, lining them up on the little table for easy access to both of them. Draco sat down, face impassive, produced his flask, and poured two very large glasses for both of them.

"Might as well go out in style," he muttered, and she laughed shakily. She supposed he was right. There was no point to being sober for any of this as long as their writing made sense. "Are we writing this comprehensively, or separately?" he asked, then took a large gulp of his drink.

She followed suit, making a face as it burned down her throat. "Let's do it together. I think it would be an easier story to follow." He nodded in agreement, stonily.

So they sat there, drinking their glasses, arguing gravely over the dates, times, and details, recording facts from the notes Hermione had been taking, trying to combine all that they had known and learned. She noticed Draco kept looking at his watch, so gently, she took hold of his hand, removed it, and put it in her bag, out of sight. There was no use seeing how long they had been awake, or how long they had left.

Coughs had become more frequent, causing long pauses in the work, while each of them tried to catch their breath. Hermione could feel her body beginning to shut down. Little by little. So she drank more, and in turn Draco drank more. It was a vicious cycle, though the alcohol kept them distracted from the their fate, it also made it harder to focus on the task they had set upon themselves, so that frequently one of them would make an outlandish comment solely for the purpose of seeing the other laugh. It had become an almost cheerful affair by the end of it, right until Hermione inked the last words in her perfect script.

"_We hope everyone in the future has better luck than we did."_

And then they each signed the parchment, and the room was quiet again. Draco took a long pull from his drink, and Hermione wordlessly used her wand to produce copies of their pages and pages of work. They had been very thorough. A perfect timeline drawn up. Every detail of every thought, feeling, action…

She sealed two copies of the manuscript and wrote "Harry Potter" on one, "Ronald Weasley" on the other. She knew Harry would find her parents to make sure they knew and understood. She knew that he would understand that they needed to be told in person. Both to edit out the worst of it and to explain the magical components that they wouldn't understand. And Ronald deserved to know exactly _why._ She knew they would find them eventually when they came looking for her.

Draco watched her do this, then also produced two copies, one labeled for Blaise, one for Theo. They could do as they wished with them. He didn't know how they would react, he just knew that he had to tell someone about the hell they had suffered through.

"Well," she said quietly. "I guess that's it…" The fire was dying down now. She didn't know if it was morning, noon, or night, but she looked up at Draco's face, now with a grayish tinge, a little bit of blood beginning to trickle from his nose, and conjured a clean handkerchief for him. He took it, unquestioningly, familiar with their deteriorating conditions at this point.

"What now?" he asked, dabbing at his nose, breathing a little hoarsely. He looked at her, sadly, but he was accepting now, and she knew that she was too. They had done all they could. They had taken care to help everyone in the future that they could. They had gotten their story out there. She marveled at how calm she felt. At how calm Draco was.

Hermione shook her head slightly, causing her to realize how lightheaded she was. Combined with her slight drunkenness, it almost threw her off-balance. "We should hang out here so we don't… uh… scar our roommates for life when they wake up to us dead. I guess we can either go to sleep, or wait for it…"

There was really no tactful way to discuss your ending life, Hermione realized. They perhaps had minutes. They perhaps had another hour. But her brain was buzzing, not just from alcohol, and it was becoming harder to breath. It wasn't an automatic process for her anymore, and judging by the deep, labored breaths Draco was taking he was feeling the same way.

"I'm going to wait for it," Draco said wearily, standing carefully, looking as though he was also off balance. "It's a once in a life time opportunity. I don't want to miss it." He smiled wryly.

Hermione allowed a small smile. It was a strange attitude to take, though oddly it comforted her. She also stood and approached the dying embers in the fireplace. She just wanted to transfigure one of the chairs into a big squishy couch… something she could stretch out on… something her and Draco Malfoy could sit together on while they waited…

But her hands were shaking too badly to hold her wand now, and she dropped it when she tried to hold it up. Draco was suddenly beside her, and he also tried to transfigure one of the chairs, realizing what she had been trying to do. His grip was a little tighter, but only a couple feeble green sparks shot from the end of his wand, fizzing out quickly.

Defeat crushed down on Hermione. It was all she wanted at the moment, her last dying wish, if you will, and neither of them could do magic anymore. She felt tears prick the corners of her eyes, and seemingly as soon as this happened, the room obliged, and the two chairs in front of the fire merged and shifted to become the most comfortable looking couch she had ever seen.

Immediately she collapsed onto it, and Draco soon followed, and she leaned on him, wanting to feel the warmth of another human to the end. Someone that cared and understood. Someone that knew exactly what she was going through, and it was such a shame that he was going through it too.

"You're not a bad person," she whispered to him. She didn't know why she said it. It was as though she suddenly knew exactly what he had been thinking about, and she wanted to reassure him that he had left a good impact on the world.

"You're not either," was his weak answer. And then, slowly, laboriously, he cupped his hand to her cheek, fingers icy cold, and pulled her to face him. They looked into eachother's eyes for a moment, and Hermione soaked in all sadness and helplessness, as well as the strength he was exhibiting, still managing to keep his face completely impassive, save for his eyes. But his eyes had always told her exactly what his was thinking.

She didn't know who started it, just that his lips were pressed against hers for the last time. She was feeling his breath against her cheek for the last time, and then, gradually, flesh on flesh for the first time, their bodies heating eachother, and then she couldn't keep her eyes open any longer, and so she gave in and closed them while in the arms of Draco Malfoy, Mortal Enemy, skin pressed against skin.

* * *

><p>.<p>

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* * *

><p>There was heat pressing against his face, against his whole body. It was uncomfortable, and he shifted, trying to find a cooler spot on whatever-he-was-laying-on, only to become acutely aware of two things.<p>

He wasn't wearing clothes.

There was someone pressed against him.

Draco's eyes fluttered open. He was in the Room of Requirement. The fire was blazing once again, and he was holding Hermione Granger tight to his chest, her hair covering her face. _What the fuck… _he was breathing hard, eyes flitting around the room, though he still didn't dare to move. How long had it been? He was still alive… if he had only closed his eyes for a few minutes, then it was possible that he was still waiting to face his mortality…

But the fire was roaring. Surely that meant a house elf had been in to tend to it… or did the Room of Requirement simply run that fire on magic? He had to know…

Slowly, carefully, he untangled himself from the mess of Hermione Grangers arms and the couch, before slipping his clothes carefully back on, trying to monitor his body, acutely aware of every little ache and pain. Then he stood there, watching... Yes, Granger was definitely still breathing.

His heart was beginning to thud hard in his chest, though it was not uncomfortable. Excitement and adrenaline were beginning to pump through his veins, something he felt that he had not experienced in so long… and so he rushed to Hermione's bag that had been left by the little table, knocking over one of the wooden chairs in the process, and plunged his hand, groping desperately, trying and failing to not let his hopes get too high…

10

In the morning

Friday

They had been asleep for over 48 hours. And they were both still alive. He could hear Granger beginning to stir on the couch, and the familiar mutterings she made to herself. Eagerly, he shoved his hands in his pockets, fingers searching desperately, until they closed on his wand. "Expecto Patronum!" he shouted, and a silvery wolf, larger, brighter than it had ever been before, erupted from the tip of his wand and trotted around the room once before it came back to him. It stopped in front of him and looked directly at him, as if congratulating him, before vanishing, the silvery mist lingering a bit longer.

"Wh…what?" came the startled voice of Hermione. The Patronous had been bright, striking, and she was standing on the other side of the couch, half dressed, jaw slack, surprise written all over her.

Draco bounded back over to her, feeling as though there were springs all over his body. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt so energized, so happy, so fucking _carefree._ He stopped in front of her, grinning, eyes looking her up and down, taking in her state of disarray and confusion, remembering the feel of her body...

"We made it," he whispered, triumph soaking every word. "We're alive."

A wide grin split her face, and she jumped at him, pressing her lips against his. He was taken aback, unsure at first, not used to the elated version of Hermione, but he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, lifting her up so her toes dangled for just a minute, before setting her down. "I love you," she whispered in his ear. He snorted, and she looked took a step back, looking as affronted as Hermione Granger ever had.

"That," he said, "is obvious." They wouldn't be alive otherwise, after all. She smiled slightly, and he knew that she understood. He watched amused as she pulled her robes back on. She was blushing slightly.

Turning on heel, he began towards the exit.

"Where are you going?" she called after him.

He snorted again. She really thought he was going to forget everything that had happened before? "I'm going to go beat the shit out of that Weasel," he replied, and his cloak whipped around the corner before she had a chance to respond.


	18. Epilogue: Saving Grace

Horace Slughorn ambled through the Potions classroom, tidying up the tables a bit, until he made his way to the tall cabinet that held his NEWT students' projects. The students had finished adding ingredients days ago, and he had simply been allowing them to stew for the past week. Slowly, he opened the cabinet and peered into each pot. Some of the potions looked rather passable, others looked like downright sludge, all of them glistening, different colored steam rose off each of them.

He took his time, looking into each pot, curious about the colors that had chosen the students, until his eyes finally fell on the set in the bottom right corner, and he crouched to get a good look at the glowing liquids. He smiled at them, then began to chuckle, until he was full on laughing by himself in the dungeons.

He quickly regained control of himself and conjured a little ladle so he could spoon some of the potions out and drop it back in, letting the light hit the liquid, in order to get a better look. Both cauldrons now contained a deep emerald liquid. Light bounced off it like diamonds. They seemed to be pots full of glitter, and they were identical. It was impossible to tell the difference between poison and antidote.

Instead of creating the most potent Poison with its Antidote, Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy had together created the most rare and powerful love potion in the world. Of course, they had no idea what they were doing, and had simply been following directions, but the Unspeakable Draught fed off of the brewers and had a life of its own…

Still chuckling to himself, he set their cauldrons on his desk and began bottling up the glittering draft. It was extremely valuable. He had only seen this happen once before, many years ago, with his favorite student Lily Evans. It was a rarity indeed, and he was delighted to have been there to witness it. They were both extremely powerful wizards, and together, who knows what could happen?

* * *

><p><strong>15 Years Later<strong>

An odder family had never been seen on Platform 9 ¾. A black suit, tailored to perfection, blond hair perfectly trimmed, next to a brilliant set of sea-green robes and a mess of curly brown hair. No one would have ever in their lives guessed that Draco Malfoy would be standing next to the brainy muggleborn, who was now Hermione Malfoy. A pale little girl, around four-years-old with white-blond hair curling and falling to her waist, was perched on Hermione's hip, sleepily looked around at the bustling crowd with her startling grey eyes. A little boy, no older than 11, held hands with his father, his brown hair and eyes as much of a contrast to Draco as his mother's were.

They stood together, watching the scarlet steam engine fill with students, large trunks, and assorted pets. "Are you nervous?" Hermione asked little Leo.

He shook his messy brown head. She watched him carefully. He was like his father, though he looked so much like her, refusing to admit his emotions.

"You already have friends there, you know. Luc Zabini, and Albus and James Potter, and Rose Weasley…"

"_I know, _mother," sighed Leo, in perfect imitation of his father. She smiled at his exasperation. "I'm going to see if they are already on the train. Maybe grab a compartment." And he hauled his trunk and owl out of sight. Hermione sighed. He was such an independent little boy, but she couldn't believe he was already off to school…

"He'll be okay," she whispered to Draco.

Draco rolled his grey eyes magnificently. _"I know, _Hermione." She had been trying to 'reassure' him for weeks now, though it was quite obvious to him that _she _was the one that needed reassurance. Gently, he took little Lyra from her arms and set the little girl on the ground. She rubbed her knuckles into her eyes sleepily. Draco slipped a hand around Hermione's waist and took hold of one of Lyra's hands with the other.

"Do you think he'll come back out to say goodbye?" Her big brown eyes were brimming with tears when she looked at him now, and Draco sighed.

"Of course he will. You know how nervous he is. He knows how nervous you are. He wouldn't leave you like this." And moments later, Leo reappeared, and Hermione wrapped his small form in her arms immediately, a couple large tears falling on top of his head.

"_Mooommm_," he moaned. She was embarrassing him, so sniffling slightly, she let go, and Draco crouched down to give their son a hug, too.

"Remember," he muttered in his ear. "All Malfoys are Slytherins."

A shot of panic flashed across Leo's eyes, just for a second, and Hermione raised her eyebrows. "They most certainly are not, Draco. Did you forget I was in Gryffindor?"

"I try too," he said, shrugging, as he released their son. "Have a good year. Give that Weasel kid hell for me."

Hermione shook her head. It was useless to try to argue with this. Apparently when Draco had confronted Ronald, turned him into a Weasel, and flung him across the hallways, it hadn't been enough. Despite the many heartfelt apologies and explanations and tears on Hermione's part, she didn't think that Draco would ever forgive him.

Draco had been right all those years ago. Ron had no idea about the messages Draco had received from his father. Some digging and questioning later, they finally deduced that the only possible way he could have found out was through a grape-vine of people – he had no connections directly in Hogwarts. Theo had mentioned in passing to his aunt that Draco and Hermione had been spending time together, his aunt had mentioned it to a family friend, and so on and so forth. Draco suspected that it had eventually gotten to his aunt Bella, who would have alerted Lucius immediately, despite their differences, in order to keep the blood line pure. It was frightening to think that Bellatrix Lestrange had heard news of her, but Mrs. Weasley had taken care of the woman during the Final Battle.

As Leo boarded, he gave them a small wave and a small smile, and disappeared around the corner. Soon after, Hermione heard her name being called behind them, and turned to see Harry and Ginny along with Ron and Lavender, their kids running around the platform excitedly.

"Hermione, it's great to see you!" gushed Ginny, and Hermione grinned widely, pulling them all into a hug in turn. Some children watched, knowing them as the group that had defeated Lord Voldemort two years after graduation, but they were out and about enough that no one felt the need to try to approach them and talk to them, as it had been for years after the final battle. As Hermione hugged Ron, she felt him stiffen as he looked over her shoulder, and so she released him and turned to see Draco smirking evilly at him.

She scowled at him, and turned back to her friends, remembering how she had handed each of them a copy of the manuscript once her and Draco had woken up. It had taken months for any of them to accept the idea. They had all spent many sleepless nights arguing, carrying on awkward conversations, trying to figure out alternatives for Hermione, and generally disagreeing, but eventually they came to accept Draco. To an extent, at least. Ginny simply ignored him. Harry would greet him with a slight nod, but wouldn't often say anything. Hermione thought that Ron might still be downright scared of him, having never recovered from his Weasel incident.

But really, what choice did her friends have? He was her other half. She couldn't breathe without him. She couldn't live without him, and he couldn't live without her, and they loved eachother, though they never seemed to grow out of their petty arguments.

The train whistle blew, and Ron cursed before running off to make sure his kid was on the train safely, and Ginny and Harry began fussing over Albus and James, so Hermione turned back to Draco.

He was holding Lyra now, who looked as though she had finally fallen asleep, and was chatting with Blaise. Luc stood next to Blaise, an exact replica of his father except for his blue eyes, contrasting his dark skin tone beautifully.

She joined them just as Blaise was saying goodbye in order to make sure his son got settled, and Hermione put her head on Draco's shoulder, so that they stood there closely, watching the train blow steam as it begun to push forward. Leo's face appeared in one of the windows, smiling largely now that he had found his friends, and they waved goodbye to him.

"You shouldn't have tried to scare him. You know he's going to be in Slytherin anyway," Hermione scolded. "He's already so much like you."

Draco scowled. "Let's hope he's not too much like me. Besides, he could do with a little scare before he gets there. We don't want our only son to grow up as a little pansy boy."

Hermione laughed as they passed back through the barrier, heading to their car. Draco sneered at the silly vehicle once they reached it, as he had every other time he had looked at it, while he buckled in their sleeping daughter. Hermione had insisted upon owning the car, and he had finally relented after many magical alterations.

Malfoy Manor had become his once he and Hermione got married, as was tradition in the family, bound by magic, and though Lucius still fumed in his cell in Azkaban, Narcissa had more or less accepted her son's choice in partner… or at least she had when she met her first grandchild.

"He doesn't _have_ to be our only son," she said slyly as she shifted the car into Drive, shooting him a sideways look.

Draco was unable to stop the exasperated sigh that escaped his lips, which seemed to be his usual reaction whenever Hermione suggested something. "Merlin, Hermione, you want another kid already?"

She shrugged, smiling slightly to herself as she easily wove in and out of traffic, as if by magic, until they arrived at the manor, much faster than it should have been possible.

"I don't see why not. After all, we make beautiful children… and Lyra is already down for her nap…"

He smirked as he carried their youngest inside, up winding stairs until he could place her gently in her bed, and he turned back to Hermione, who had followed him up the stairs, still waiting impatiently for any sort of answer from him. "I guess you're right about that," he muttered as he pulled her close to him, pressing his lips against hers.

* * *

><p><strong>a.n. Thanks, everyone, for reading this through to the end. I hope you enjoyed it! If you have any constructive criticism, please let me know through reviews or personal message. :) Be on a look out for future stories from me! I love writing, and I happen to have a lot of free time.<strong>

**-Lucie**


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